yC-NRLF 


B  M  IDS  ^^^ 


fi.'^i 


m^ 


f 


!  •  J,    ^ 


«*• 


OF  THF     "*^ 

UNIVERSITY 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EVES 


BY 


THOMAS    HARDY 

AUTHOR  OF   "TESS  OF  THE   D'URBKRVILLKS," 

"life's  little  ironies,"  etc. 


WITH   AN   ETCHING  BY 

H.    MACBETH-RAEBURN 
AND  A  MAP  OF  WKSSEX 


'  A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature, 
Forward,  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lastin^f, 
_-^___;«j^^The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute ; 
^iBWA'g^ifimore.' 
^     or  THF  ^ 

UWIVERSITV  I 

OF  />' 


NEW  YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN  SQUARE 


Pa 


A    PAIR    OF    BLUE    EYES 


PREFACE 

1  HE  following  chapters  were  written  at  a  time  when  the 
craze  for  indiscriminate  church-restoration  had  just  reached 
the  remotest  nooks  of  western  England,  where  the  wild  and 
tragic  features  of  the  coast  had  long  combined  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  crude  Gothic  Art  of  the  ecclesiastical 
buildings  scattered  along  it,  throwing  into  extraordinary 
discord  all  architectural  attempts  at  newness  there.  To 
restore  the  grey  carcases  of  a  mediaevalism  whose  spirit 
had  fled,  seemed  a  not  less  incongruous  act  than  to  set 
about  renovating  the  adjoining  crags  themselves. 

Hence  it  happened  that  an  imaginary  history  of  three 
human  hearts,  whose  emotions  were  not  without  corre- 
spondence with  these  material  circumstances,  found  in  the 
ordinary  incidents  of  such  church-renovations  a  fitting 
frame  for  its  presentation. 

The  shore  and  country  about  *  Castle  Boterel'  is  now 
getting  well  known,  and  will  be  readily  recognized.  The 
spot  is,  I  may  add,  the  furthest  westward  of  all  those 
convenient  corners  wherein  I  have  ventured  to  erect  my 
theatre  for  these  imperfect  little  dramas  of  country  life 
and  passions ;  and  it  lies  near  to,  or  no  great  way  be- 
yond, the  vague  border  of  the  Wessex  kingdom  on  that 
side,  which,  like  the  westering  verge  of  modern  American 
settlements,  was  progressive  and  uncertain. 

V 


PREFACE 

This,  however,  is  of  little  importance.  The  place  is  pre- 
eminently (for  one  person  at  least)  the  region  of  dream  and 
mystery.  The  ghostly  birds,  the  pall-like  sea,  the  frothy 
wind,  the  eternal  soliloquy  of  the  waters,  the  bloom  of 
dark  purple  cast,  that  seems  to  exhale  from  the  shoreward 
precipices,  in  themselves  lend  to  the  scene  an  atmosphere 
like  the  twilight  of  a  night  vision. 

One  enormous  sea-bord  cliff  in  particular  figures  in  the 
narrative ;  and  for  some  forgotten  reason  or  other  this 
cliff  was  described  in  the  story  as  being  without  a  name. 
Accuracy  would  require  the  statement  to  be  that  a  remark- 
able cliff  which  resembles  in  many  points  the  cliff  of  the 
description  bears  a  name  that  no  event  has  made  famous. 

T.  H. 
March  1895, 


THE  PERSONS 


Elfride  Swancourt 
Christopher  Swancourt 
Stephen  Smith  . 
Henry  Knight  . 
Charlotte  Troyton . 
Gertrude  Jethvvay  . 
Spenser  Hugo  Luxellian 
Lady  Luxellian 
Mary  and  Kate 
William  Worm  . 
John  Smith 
Jane  Smith 
Martin  Cannister    . 
Unity  .... 


a  young  Lady. 

a  Clergyman. 

an  Architect. 

a  Reviewer  and  Essayist, 

a  rich  Widow. 

a  poor  Widow. 

a  Peer. 

his  Wife. 

two  little  Girls. 

a  dazed  Factotum. 

a  Master-mason. 

his  Wife. 

a  Sexton. 

a  Maid-servant. 


Other  servants i  masons^  labourers ^  grooms,  nondescripts,  etc.,  etc, 

THE  SCENE 

Mostly  on  the  outskirts  of  Lower  Wessex. 


0 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 


A  fair  vestal,  throned  in  the  west 


ElFRIDE  SWANcdURT  was  a  girl  whose  emotions 
lay  very  near  the  surface.  Their  nature  more  precisely, 
and  as  modified  by  the  creeping  hours  of  time,  was 
known  only  to  those  who  watched  the  circumstances  of 
her  history. 

Personally,  she  was  the  combination  of  very  interest- 
ing particulars,  whose  rarity,  however,  lay  in  the  com- 
bination itself  rather  than  in  the  individual  elements 
combined.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  did  not  see  the 
form  and  substance  of  her  features  when  conversing 
with  her ;  and  this  charming  power  of  preventing  a 
material  study  of  her  lineaments  by  an  interlocutor, 
originated  not  in  the  cloaking  effect  of  a  well-formed 
manner  (for  her  manner  was  childish  and  scarcely 
formed),  but  in  the  attractive  crudeness  of  the  remarks 
themselves.  She  had  lived  all  her  life  in  retirement — - 
the  7nonstrari  digito  of  idle  men  had  not  flattered  her, 
and  at  the  age  of  nineteen  or  twenty  she  was  no  further 
on  in  social  consciousness  than  an  urban  young  lady 
of  fifteen. 

One  point  in  her,  however,  you  did  notice :  that  was 
her  eyes.     In  them  was  seen  a  sublimation  of  all  of 

I  A 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

her ;   it  vas  not  necessary  to  look  further :   there  she 
lived.  ^  v^ 

r  TEese  eyes  were  blue ;  blue  as  autumn  distance — i 
/blue  as  the  blue  we  see  between  the  retreating  mould- 
lings  of  hills  and  woody  slopes  on  a  sunny  September 
I  morning.     A  misty  and  shady  blue,  that  had  no  begin- 

I  ning  or  surface,  and  was  looked  into  rather  than  at.^ 

W'"'~As  to  her  presence,  it  was   not   powerful ;    it  was 
weak.     Some  women  can  make  their  personality  pervade 
the  atmosphere  of  a  whole  banqueting  hall;   Elfride's 
was  no  more  pervasive  than  that  of  a  kitten. 
^       Elfride  had  as   her  own   the   thoughtfulness  which 
j        appears  in  the  face  of  the  Madonna  della  Sedia,  with- 
out its  rapture :  the  warmth  and  spirit  of  the  type  of 
woman's  feature  most  common  to  the  beauties — mortal 
and  immortal — of  Rubens,  without  their  insistent  fleshi- 
ness.    The  characteristic  expression  of  the  female  faces 
of  Correggio — that  of  the  yearning  human  thoughts  that 
\         lie  too  deep  for  tears — was  hers  sometimes,  but  seldom 
N.    under  ordinary  conditions.  • 

The  point  in  Elfride  Swaricourt's  life  at  which  a 
deeper  current  may  be  said  to  have  permanently  set  in, 
was  one  winter  afternoon  >^hen  she  found  herself  stand- 
ing, in  the  character  of  hostess,  face  to  face  with  a  man 
she  had  never  seen  before — moreover,  looking  at  him 
with  a  Miranda-like  curiosity  and  interest  that  she  had 
never  yet  bestowed  on  a  mortal. 

On   this  particular  day  her  father,  the  vicar   of  a 

!    parish  on  the  sea-swept  outskirts  of  Lower  Wessex,  and 

'    a  widower,  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  gout.     After 

finishing    her    household    supervisions    Elfride    became 

restless,  and  several  times  left  the  room,  ascended  the 

staircase,  and  knocked  at  her  father's  chamber-door. 

*  Come  in  ! '  was  always  answered  in  a  hearty  out-of- 
door  voice  from  the  inside. 

'  Papa,'  she  said  on  one  occasion  to  the  fine,  red- 
faced,  handsome  man  of  forty,  who,  puffing  and  fizzing 

3 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

like  a  bursting  bottle,  lay  on  the  bed  wrapped  in  a 
dressing-gown,  and  every  now  and  then  enunciating, 
in  spite  of  himself,  about  one  letter  of  some  word  or 
words  that  were  almost  oaths ;  '  papa,  will  you  not 
come  downstairs  this  evening  ? '  She  spoke  distinctly  : 
he  was  rather  deaf. 

'  Afraid  not — eh-h-h  ! — very  much  afraid  I  shall  not, 
Elfride.  Piph-ph-ph !  I  can't  bear  even  a  handker- 
chief upon  this  deuced  toe  of  mine,  much  less  a 
stocking  or  slipper — piph-ph-ph !  There  'tis  again  ! 
No,  I  shan't  get  up  till  to-morrow/ 

*  Then  I  hope  this  London  man  won't  come ;  for  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  do,  papa.' 

*  Well,  it  would  be  awkward,  certainly.' 

'  I  should  hardly  think  he  would  come  to-day.' 

*  ^Vhy  ? ' 

'  Because  the  wind  blows  so.' 

'  Wind  !  What  ideas  you  have,  Elfride  !  Who  ever 
heard  of  wind  stopping  a  man  from  doing  his  business  ? 
The  idea  of  this  toe  of  mine  coming  on  so  suddenly ! 
.  .  .  If  he  should  come,  you  must  send  him  up  to  me, 
I  suppose,  and  then  give  him  some  food  and  put  him 
to  bed  in  some  way.  Dear  me,  what  a  nuisance  all 
this  is  ! ' 

*  Must  he  have  dinner  ?  ' 

'  Too  heavy  for  a  tired  man  at  the  end  of  a  tedious 
journey.' 

*Tea,  then?' 

*  Not  substantial  enough.' 

'High  tea,  then?  There  is  cold  fowl,  rabbit-pie, 
some  pasties,  and  things  of  that  kind.' 

*  Yes,  high  tea.' 

'  Must  I  pour  out  his  tea,  papa  ? ' 

'  Of  course  ;  you  are  the  mistress  of  the  house.' 

*  What !  sit  there  all  the  time  with  a  stranger,  just  as 
if  I  knew  him,  and  not  anybody  to  introduce  us  ? ' 

'Nonsense,    child,    about    introducing;    you    know 
3 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

better  than  that.  A  practical  professional  man,  tired 
and  hungry,  who  has  been  travelling  ever  since  daylight 
this  morning,  will  hardly  be  inclined  to  talk  and  air 
courtesies  to-night.  He  wants  food  and  shelter,  and 
you  must  see  that  he  has  it,  simply  because  I  am 
suddenly  laid  up  and  cannot.  There  is  nothing  so 
dreadful  in  that,  I  hope?  You  get  all  kinds  of  stuff 
into  your  head  from  reading  so  many  of  those  novels.' 

*  Oh  no ;  there  is  nothing  dreadful  in  it  when  it 
becomes  plainly  a  case  of  necessity  Hke  this.  But,  you 
see,  you  are  always  there  when  people  come  to  dinner, 
even  if  we  know  them;  and  this  is  some  strange 
London  man  of  the  wotld,  who  will  think  it  odd, 
perhaps.' 

*  Very  well ;  let  him.' 

*  Is  he  Mr.  Hewby's  partner  ?  ' 

*  I  should  scarcely  think  so  :  he  may  be.' 

*  How  old  is  he,  I  wonder  ? ' 

'  That  I  cannot  tell.  You  will  find  the  copy  of  my 
letter  to  Mr.  Hewby,  and  his  answer,  upon  the  table  in 
the  study.  You  may  read  them,  and  then  you'll  know 
as  much  as  I  do  about  our  visitor.' 

^  I  have  read  them.' 

*  Well,  what's  the  use  of  asking  questions,  then  ? 
They  contain  all  I  know.  Ugh-h-h !  .  .  .  Od  plague 
you,  you  young  scamp !  don't  put  anything  there !  I 
can't  bear  the  weight  of  a  fly.' 

'  Oh,  I  am  sorry,  papa.-  I  forgot ;  I  thought  you 
might  be  cold,'  she  said,  hastily  removing  the  rug  she 
had  thrown  upon  the  feet  of  the  sufferer ;  and  waiting 
till  she  saw  that  consciousness  of  her  offence  had  passed 
from  his  face,  she  withdrew  from  the  room,  and  retired 
again  downstairs. 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 


n 

"Twas  on  the  evening  of  a  winter's  day.' 

When  two  or  three  additional  hours  had  merged 
the  same  afternoon  in  evening,  some  moving  outlines 
might  have  been  observed  against  the  sky  on  the 
summit  of  a  wild  lone  hill  in  that  district.  They 
circumscribed  two  men,  having  at  present  the  aspect 
of  silhouettes,  sitting  in  a  dog-cart  and  pushing  along 
in  the  teeth  of  the  wind.  Scarcely  a  solitary  house  or 
man  had  been  visible  along  the  whole  dreary  distance 
of  open  country  they  were  traversing;  and  now  that 
night  had  begun  to  fall,  the  faint  twilight,  which  still 
gave  an  idea  of  the  landscape  to  their  observation,  was 
enlivened  by  the  quiet  appearance  of  the  planet  Jupiter, 
momentarily  gleaming  in  intenser  brilliancy  in  front  of 
them,  and  by  Sirius  shedding  his  rays  in  rivalry  from 
his  position  over  their  shoulders.  The  only  lights 
apparent  on  earth  were  some  spots  of  dull  red,  glowing 
here  and  there  upon  the  distant  hills,  which,  as  the 
driver  of  the  vehicle  gratuitously  remarked  to  the  hirer, 
were  smouldering  fires  for  the  consumption  of  peat  and 
gorse-roots,  where  the  common  was  being  broken  up  for 
agricultural  purposes.  The  wind  prevailed  with  but 
little  abatement  from  its  daytime  boisterousress,  three 

5 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

or  four  small  clouds,  delicate  and  pale,  creeping  along 
under  the  sky  southward  to  the  Channel. 

Fourteen  of  the  sixteen  miles  intervening  between 
the  railway  terminus  and  the  end  of  their  journey  had 
been  gone  over,  when  they  began  to  pass  along  the 
brink  of  a  valley  some  miles  in  extent,  wherein  the 
wintry  skeletons  of  a  more  luxuriant  vegetation  than 
had  hitherto  surrounded  them  proclaimed  an  increased 
richness  of  soil,  which  showed  signs  of  far  more  careful 
enclosure  and  management  than  had  any  slopes  they 
had  yet  passed.  A  little  farther,  and  an  opening  in 
the  elms  stretching  up  from  this  fertile  valley  revealed 
a  mansion. 

^That's  Endelstow  House,  Lord  Luxellian's,'  said 
the  driver. 

*  Endelstow  House,  Lord  Luxellian's,'  repeated  the 
other  mechanically.  He  then  turned  himself  sideways, 
and  keenly  scrutinized  the  almost  invisible  house  with 
an  interest  which  the  indistinct  picture  itself  seemed 
far  from  adequate  to  create.  *  Yes,  that's  Lord  Luxel- 
lian's,' he  said  yet  again  after  a  while,  as  he  still  looked 
in  the  same  direction. 

'  What,  be  we  going  there  ?  ' 
'  No ;  Endelstow  Vicarage,  as  I  have  told  you.' 
'  I  thought  you  m't  have  altered  your  mind,  sir,  as 
ye  have  stared  that  way  at  nothing  so  long.* 

'  Oh  no ;  I  am  interested  in  the  house,  that's  all.' 
'  Most  people  be,  as  the  saying  is.' 
'  Not  in  the  sense  that  I  am.' 

*  Oh !  .  .  .  Well,  his  family  is  no  better  than  my 
own,  'a  b'lieve.' 

'  How  is  that  ? ' 

'  Hedgers  and  ditchers  by  rights.  But  once  in 
ancient  times  one  of  'em,  when  he  was  at  work,  changed 
clothes  with  King  Charles  the  Second,  and  saved  the 
king's  life.  King  Charles  came  up  to  him  like  a 
common  man,  and  said  off-hand,  "  Man  in  the  smock- 

6 


frock,  my  name  is  Charles  the  Second,  and  that's  the 
truth  on't.  Will  you  lend  me  your  clothes  ? "  "I 
don't  mind  if  I  do,"  said  Hedger  Luxellian ;  and  they 
changed  there  and  then.  "  Now  mind  ye,"  King 
Charles  the  Second  said,  Hke  a  common  man,  as  he 
rode  away,  "if  ever  I  come  to  the  crown,  you  come  to 
court,  knock  at  the  door,  and  say  out  bold,  '  Is  King 
Charles  the  Second  at  home  ? '  Tell  your  name,  and 
they  shall  let  you  in,  and  you  shall  be  made  a  lord." 
Now,  that  was  very  nice  of  Master  Charley  ? ' 
'  Very  nice  indeed.' 

*  Well,  as  the  story  is,  the  king  came  to  the  throne ; 
and  some  years  after  that,  away  went  Hedger  Luxellian, 
knocked  at  the  king's,  door,  and  asked  if  King  Charles 
the  Second  was  in.  "  No,  he  isn't,"  they  said.  "  Then, 
is  Charles  the  Third  ?  "  said  Hedger  Luxellian.  "  Yes," 
said  a  young  feller  standing  by  like  a  common  man, 
only  he  had  a  crown  on,  "  my  name  is  Charles  the 
Third."     And ' 

*  I  really  fancy  that  must  be  a  mistake.  I  don't 
recollect  anything  in  English  history  about  Charles  the 
Third,'  said  the  other  in  a  tone  of  mild  remonstrance. 

'  Oh,  that's  right  history  enough,  only  'twasn't 
prented ;  he  was  rather  a  queer-tempered  man,  if  you 
remember.' 

*  Very  well ;  go  on.' 

*  And,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  Hedger  Luxellian  was 
made  a  lord,  and  everything  went  on  well  till  some 
time  after,  when  he  got  into  a  most  terrible  row  with 
King  Charles  the  Fourth ' 

'  I  can't  stand  Charles  the  Fourth.  Upon  my  word, 
that's  too  much.' 

'  Why  ?  There  was  a  George  the  Fourth,  wasn't 
there  ? ' 

'  Certainly.' 

*  Well,  Charleses  be  as  common  as  Georges.  How- 
ever I'll  say  no  more  about  it.  .  .  .  Ah,  well !  'tis  the 

7 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE  EYES 

funniest  world  ever  I  lived  in — upon  my  life  'tis.     Ah, 
that  such  should  be  ! ' 

The  dusk  had  thickened  into  darkness  while  they 
thus  conversed,  and  the  outline  and  surface  of  the 
mansion  gradually  disappeared.  The  windows,  which 
had  before  been  as  black  blots  on  a  lighter  expanse 
of  wall,  became  illuminated,  and  were  transfigured  to 
squares  of  light  on  the  general  dark  body  of  the  night 
landscape  as  it  absorbed  the  outHnes  of  the  edifice 
into  its  gloomy  monochrome. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  for  some  time,  and 
they  climbed  a  hill,  then  another  hill  piled  on  the 
summit  of  the  first.  An  additional  mile  of  plateau 
followed,  from  which  could  be  discerned  two  light.^ 
houses  on  the  coast  they  were  nearing,  reposing  on  the 
horizon  with  a  calm  lustre  of  benignity.  Another  oasis 
was  reached;  a  Httle  dell  lay  like  a  nest  at  their  feet, 
towards  which  the  driver  pulled  the  horse  at  a  sharp 
angle,  and  descended  a  steep  slope  which  dived  under 
the  trees  like  a  rabbit's  burrow.  They  sank  lower  and 
lower. 

'  Endelstow  Vicarage  is  inside  here,'  continued  the 
man  with  the  reins.  '  This  part  about  here  is  West 
Endelstow;  Lord  Luxellian's  is  East  Endelstow,  and 
has  a  church  to  itself.  Pa'son  Swancourt  is  the  pa'son 
of  both,  and  bobs  backward  and  forward.  Ah,  well ! 
'tis  a  funny  world. /i. 'A  b'Heve  there  was  once  a  quarry 
where  this  house  stands^J"  The  man  who  built  it  in  past 
time  scraped  all  the  glebe  for  earth  to  put  round  the 
vicarage,  and  laid  out  a  little  paradise  of  flowers  and 
trees  in  the  soil  he  had  got  together  in  this  way,  whilst 
the  fields  he  scraped  have  been  good  for  nothing  ever 
since.' 

'  How  long  has  the  present  incumbent  been  here  ? ' 

'  Maybe  about  a  year,  or  a  year  and  half:  'tisn't  two 
years  ;  for  they  don't  scandaHze  him  yet ;  and,  as  a  rule, 
a  parish  begins  to  scandahze  the  pa'son  at  the  end  of 

8 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

two  years  among  'em  familiar.  But  he's  a  very  nice 
party.  Ay,  Pa'son  Swancourt  knows  me  pretty  well 
from  often  driving  over;  and  I  know  Pa'son  Swan- 
court.' 

They  emerged  from  the  bower,  swept  round  in  a 
curve,  and  the  chimneys  and  gables  of  the  vicarage 
became  darkly  visible.  Not  a  light  showed  anywhere. 
They  alighted;  the  man  felt  his  way  into  the  porch, 
and  rang  the  bell. 

At  the  end  of  three  or  four  minutes,  spent  in  patient 
waiting  without  hearing  any  sounds  of  a  response,  the 
stranger  advanced  and  repeated  the  call  in  a  more 
decided  manner.  He  then  fancied  he  heard  footsteps 
in  the  hall,  and  sundry  movements  of  the  door-knob, 
but  nobody  appeared. 

'  Perhaps  they  beant  at  home,'  sighed  the  driver. 
*  And  I  promised  myself  a  bit  of  supper  in  Pa'son 
Swancourt's  kitchen.  Sich  lovely  mate-pize  and  figged 
keakes,  and  cider,  and  drops  o'  cordial  that  they  do 
keep  here ! ' 

*  All  right,  naibours  !  'Be  ye  rich  men  or  be  ye  poor 
men,  that  ye  must  needs  come  to  the  world's  end  at 
this  time  o'  night  ?  '  exclaimed  a  voice  at  this  instant ; 
and,  turning  their  heads,  they  saw  a  rickety  individual 
shambling  round  from  the  back  door  with  a  horn  lantern 
dangling  from  his  hand. 

'Time  o'  night,  'a  blieve !  and  the  clock  only  gone 
seven  of  'em.  Show  a  light,  and  let  us  in,  William 
Worm.' 

*  Oh,  that  you,  Robert  Lickpan  ? ' 

*  Nobody  else,  William  Worm.' 

*  And  is  the  visiting  man  a-come  ?  ' 

*Yes,'  said  the  stranger.  *  Is  Mr.  Swancourt  at 
home  ? ' 

'  That  'a  is,  sir.  And  would  ye  mind  coming  round 
by  the  back  way  ?  The  front  door  is  got  stuck  wi'  the 
wet,  as  he  will  do  sometimes ;  and  the  Turk  can't  open 

9 


M^ 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

en.  I  know  I  am  only  a  poor  wambling  man  that  'ill 
never  pay  the  Lord  for  my  making,  sir ;  but  I  can  show 
the  way  in,  sir.' 

The  new  arrival  followed  his  guide  through  a  little 
door  in  a  wall,  and  then  promenaded  a  scullery  and  a 
kitchen,  along  which  he  passed  with  eyes  rigidly  fixed 
in  advance,  an  inbred  horror  of  prying  forbidding  him 
to  gaze  around  apartments  that  formed  the  back  side 
of  the  household  tapestry.  Entering  the  hall,  he  was 
about  to  be  shown  to  his  room,  when  from  the  inner 
lobby  of  the  front  entrance,  whither  she  had  gone  to 
learn  the  cause  of  the  delay,  sailed  forth  the  form  of 
Elfride.  Her  start  of  amazement  at  the  sight  of  the 
visitor  coming  forth  from  under  the  stairs  proved  that 
she  had  not  been  expecting  this  surprising  flank  move- 
ment, which  had  been  originated  entirely  by  the  in- 
genuity of  William  Worm. 

She  appeared  in  the  prettiest  of  all  feminine  guises, 
that  is  to  say,  in  demi-toilette,  with  plenty  of  loose 
curly  hair  tumbling  down  about  her  shoulders.  An  ex- 
pression of  uneasiness  pervaded  her  countenance ;  and 
altogether  she  scarcely  appeared  woman  enough  for  the 
situation.  The  visitor  removed  his  hat,  and  the  first 
words  were  spoken ;  Elfride  prelusively  looking  with 
a  deal  of  interest,  not  unmixed  with  surprise,  at  the 
person  towards  whom  she  was  to  do  the  duties  of 
hospitahty. 

'  I  am  Mr.  Smith,'  said  the  stranger  in  a  musical 
voice. 

*  I  am  Miss  Swancourt,'  said  Elfride. 

Her  constraint  was  over.  The  great  contrast  be- 
tween the  reality  she  beheld  before  her,  and  the  dark, 
taciturn,  sharp,  elderly  man  of  business  who  had  lurked 
in  her  imagination — a  man  with  clothes  smelling  of  city 
smoke,  skin  sallow  from  want  of  sun,  and  talk  flavoured 
with  epigram — was  such  a  relief  to  her  that  Elfride 
smiled,  almost  laughed,  in  the  new-comer's  face. 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Stephen  Smith,  who  has  hitherto  been  hidden  from 
us  by  the  darkness,  was  at  this  time  of  his  Ufe  but 
a  youth  in  appearance,  and  barely  a  man  in  years. 
Judging  from  his  look,  London  was  the  last  place  in 
the  world  that  one  would  have  imagined  to  be  the 
scene  of  his  activities  :  such  a  face  surely  could  not 
be  nourished  amid  smoke  and  mud  and  fog  and  dust ; 
such  an  open  countenance  could  never  even  have  seen 
anything  of  '  the  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret '  of 
Babylon  the  Second. 

His  complexion  was  as  fme  as  Elfride's  own ;  the 
pink  of  his  cheeks  as  delicate.  His  mouth  as  perfect  as 
Cupid's  bow  in  form,  and  as  cherry-red  in  colour  as  hers. 
Bright  curly  hair;  bright  sparkhng  blue-gray  eyes;  a 
boy's  blush  and  manner ;  neither  whisker  nor  moustache, 
unless  a  little  light-brown  fur  on  his  upper  lip  deserved 
the  latter  title  :  this  composed  the  London  professional 
man,  the  prospect  of  whose  advent  had  so  troubled 
Elfride. 

Elfride  hastened  to  say  she  was  sorry  to  tell  him 
that  Mr.  Swancourt  was  not  able  to  receive  him  that 
evening,  and  gave  the  reason  why.  Mr.  Smith  replied, 
in  a  voice  boyish  by  nature  and  manly  by  art,  that  he 
was  very  sorry  to  hear  this  news ;  but  that  as  far  as  his 
reception  was  concerned,  it  did  not  matter  in  the  least. 

Stephen  was  shown  up  to  his  room.  In  his  absence 
Elfride  stealthily  glided  into  her  father's. 

'  He's  come,  papa.  Such  a  young  man  for  a  business 
man  ! ' 

*  Oh,  indeed  ! ' 

*  His  face  is — well — pretty  ;  just  like  mine.' 
'  H'm  !  what  next  ? ' 

*  Nothing ;  that's  all  I  know  of  him  yet.  It  is  rather 
nice,  is  it  not  ?  ' 

'  Well,  we  shall  see  that  when  we  know  him  better. 
Go  down  and  give  the  poor  fellow  something  to  eat 
and  drink,  for  Heaven's  sake.     And  when  he  has  done 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

eating,  say  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  words  with  him, 
if  he  doesn't  mind  coming  up  here.' 

The  young  lady  glided  downstairs  again,  and  whilst 
she  awaits  young  Smith's  entry,  the  letters  referring  to 
his  visit  had  better  be  given. 

I. — Mr.  Swancourt  to  Mr.  Hewby. 

*  Endelstow  Vicarage,  Feb.  i8,  i8 — . 

*  Sir, — We  are  thinking  of  restoring  the  tower  and 
aisle  of  the  church  in  this  parish ;  and  Lord  Luxellian, 
the  patron  of  the  living,  has  mentioned  your  name  as 
that  of  a  trustworthy  architect  whom  it  would  be  desir- 
able to  ask  to  superintend  the  work. 

'  I  am  exceedingly  ignorant  of  the  necessary  pre- 
liminary steps.  Probably,  however,  the  first  is  that 
(should  you  be,  as  Lord  Luxellian  says  you  are,  disposed 
to  assist  us)  yourself  or  some  member  of  your  staff 
come  and  see  the  building,  and  report  thereupon  for 
the  satisfaction  of  parishioners  and  others. 

*  The  spot  is  a  very  remote  one :  we  have  no  railway 
within  fourteen  miles ;  and  the  nearest  place  for  putting 
up  at — called  a  town,  though  merely  a  large  village — is 
Castle  Boterel,  two  miles  further  on ;  so  that  it  would 
be  most  convenient  for  you  to  stay  at  the  vicarage — 
which  I  am  glad  to  place  at  your  disposal — instead  of 
pushing  on  to  the  hotel  at  Castle  Boterel,  and  coming 
back  again  in  the  morning. 

'  Any  day  of  the  next  week  that  you  like  to  name  for 
the  visit  will  find  us  quite  ready  to  receive  you. — Yours 
very  truly,  Christopher  Swancourt.' 

2. — Mr.  Hewby  to  Mr.  Swancourt. 

"Percy  Place,  Charing  Cross,  Feb.  20,  18—. 
'Dear  Sir, — Agreeably  to  your  request  of  the  i8th 
instant,  I  have  arranged  to  survey  and  make  drawings 

12 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  the  aisle  and  tower  of  your  parish  church,  and  of  the 
dilapidations  which  have  been  suffered  to  accrue  thereto, 
with  a  view  to  its  restoration. 

'  My  assistant,  Mr.  Stephen  Smith,  will  leave  London 
by  the  early  train  to-morrow  morning  for  the  purpose. 
Many  thanks  for  your  proposal  to  accommodate  him. 
He  will  take  advantage  of  your  offer,  and  will  probably 
reach  your  house  at  some  hour  of  the  evening.  You 
may  put  every  confidence  in  him,  and  may  rely  upon 
his  discernment  in  the  matter  of  church  architecture. 

'  Trusting  that  the  plans  for  the  restoration,  which  I 
shall  prepare  from  the  details  of  his  survey,  will  prove 
satisfactory  to  yourself  and  Lord  Luxellian,  I  am,  dear 
sir,  yours  faithfully,  Walter  Hewby.' 


Ill 

•  Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals.' 

IHAT  first  repast  in  Endelstow  Vicarage  was  a  very 
agreeable  one  to  young  Stephen  Smith.  The  table  was 
spread,  as  Elfride  had  suggested  to  her  father,  with  the 
materials  for  the  heterogeneous  meal  called  high  tea — a 
class  of  refection  welcome  to  all  when  away  from  men 
and  towns,  and  particularly  attractive  to  youthful  palates. 
The  table  was  prettily  decked  with  winter  flowers  and 
leaves,  amid  which  the  eye  was  greeted  by  chops,  chicken, 
pie,  &c.,  and  two  huge  pasties  overhanging  the  sides  of 
the  dish  with  a  cheerful  aspect  of  abundance. 

At  the  end,  towards  the  fireplace,  appeared  the  tea- 
service,  of  old-fashioned  Worcester  porcelain,  and  behind 
this  arose  the  slight  form  of  Elfride,  attempting  to  add 
matronly  dignity  to  the  movement  of  pouring  out  tea, 
and  to  have  a  weighty  and  concerned  look  in  matters 
of  marmalade,  honey,  and  clotted  cream.  Having 
made  her  own  meal  before  he  arrived,  she  found  to 
her  embarrassment  that  there  was  nothing  left  for  her 
to  do  but  talk  when  not  assisting  him.  She  asked  him 
if  he  would  excuse  her  finishing  a  letter  she  had  been 
writing  at  a  side- table,  and,  after  sitting  down  to  it, 
tingled  v^^ith  a  sense  of  being  grossly  rude.      However, 

14 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

seeing  that  he  noticed  nothing  personally  wrong  in  her, 
and  that  he  too  was  embarrassed  when  she  attentively 
watched  his  cup  to  refill  it,  Elfride  became  better  at 
ease ;  and  when  furthermore  he  accidentally  kicked  the 
leg  of  the  table,  and  then  nearly  upset  his  tea-cup, 
just  as  schoolboys  did,  she  felt  herself  mistress  of  the 
situation,  and  could  talk  very  well.  In  a  few  minutes 
ingenuousness  and  a  common  term  of  years  obliter- 
ated all  recollection  that  they  were  strangers  just  met. 
Stephen  began  to  wax  eloquent  on  extremely  slight 
experiences  connected  with  his  professional  pursuits ; 
and  she,  having  no  experiences  to  fall  back  upon, 
recounted  with  much  animation  stories  that  had  been 
related  to  her  by  her  father,  which  would  have  astonished 
him  had  he  heard  with  what  fidelity  of  action  and  tone 
they  were  rendered.  Upon  the  whole,  a  very  interesting 
picture  of  Sweet-and-Twenty  was  on  view  that  evening 
in  Mr.  Swancourt's  house. 

Ultimately  Stephen  had  to  go  upstairs  and  talk  loud 
to  the  vicar,  receiving  from  him  between  his  puffs  a  great 
many  apologies  for  calling  him  so  unceremoniously  to 
a  stranger's  bedroom.  '  But,'  continued  Mr.  Swancourt, 
*  I  felt  that  I  wanted  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  before 
the  morning,  on  the  business  of  your  visit.  One's 
patience  gets  exhausted  by  staying  a  prisoner  in  bed 
all  day  through  a  sudden  freak  of  one's  enemy — new 
to  me,  though — for  I  have  known  very  little  of  gout  as 
yet.  However,  he's  gone  to  my  other  toe  in  a  very 
mild  manner,  and  I  expect  he'll  slink  off  altogether  by 
the  morning.  I  hope  you  have  been  well  attended  to 
downstairs  ? ' 

*  Perfectly.  And  though  it  is  unfortunate,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  see  you  laid  up,  I  beg  you  will  not  take  the 
sHghtest  notice  of  my  being  in  the  house  the  while.' 

'  I  will  not.  But  I  shall  be  down  to-morrow.  My 
daughter  is  an  excellent  doctor.  A  dose  or  two  of  her 
mild  mixtures  will  fetch  me  round  quicker  than  all  the 

15 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

drug  stuff  in  the  world.  Well,  now  about  the  church 
business.  Take  a  seat,  do.  We  can't  afford  to  stand 
upon  ceremony  in  these  parts  as  you  see,  and  for  this 
reason,  that  a  civiUzed  human  being  seldom  stays  long 
with  us ;  and  so  we  cannot  waste  time  in  approaching 
him,  or  he  will  be  gone  before  we  have  had  the  plea- 
sure of  close  acquaintance.  This  tower  of  ours  is,  as 
you  will  notice,  entirely  gone  beyond  the  possibility  of 
restoration  ;  but  the  church  itself  is  well  enough.  You 
should  see'  some  of  the  churches  in  this  county.  Floors 
rotten  :  ivy  lining  the  walls.' 

'  Dear  me  ! ' 

'  Oh,  that's  nothing.  The  congregation  of  a  neigh- 
bour of  mine,  whenever  a  storm  of  rain  comes  on 
during  service,  open  their  umbrellas  and  hold  them  up 
till  tlie  dripping  ceases  from  the  roof.  Now,  if  you  will 
kindly  bring  me  those  papers  and  letters  you  see  lying 
on  the  table,  I  will  show  you  how  far  we  have  got.' 

Stephen  crossed  the  room  to  fetch  them,  and  the 
vicar  seemed  to  notice  more  particularly  the  slim  figure 
of  his  visitor. 

'  I  suppose  you  are  quite  competent  ?  '  he  said. 
^ '  Quite,'  said  the  young  man,  colouring  slightly. 

*  You  are  very  young,  I  fancy — I  should  say  you 
are  not  more  than  nineteen  ? ' 

'  I  am  nearly  twenty-one.' 

'  Exactly  half  my  age ;  I  am  forty-two.' 

*  By  the  way,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt,  after  some  con- 
versation, *you  said  your  whole  name  was  Stephen 
Fitzmaurice,  and  that  your  grandfather  cJ&me  originally 
from  Caxbury.  Since  I  have  been  speaking,  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  I  know  something  of  you.  You 
belong  to  a  well-known  ancient  county  family — not 
ordinary  Smiths  in  the  least.' 

'  I  don't  think  we  have  any  of  their  blood  in  our 
veins.' 

*  Nonsense !    you    must.      Hand   me   the    "  I>anded 

i6 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Gentry."  Now,  let  me  see.  There,  Stephen  Fitz- 
maurice  Smith — he  lies  in  St.  Mary's  Church,  doesn't 
he?  Well,  out  of  that  family  sprang  the  Leaseworthy 
Smiths,  and  collaterally  came  General  Sir  Stephen 
Fitzmaurice  Smith  of  Caxbury ' 

'  Yes ;  I  have  seen  his  monument  there,'  shouted 
Stephen.  '  But  there  is  no  connection  between  his 
family  and  mine  :   there  cannot  be.' 

'  There  is  none,  possibly,  to  your  knowledge.  But 
look  at  this,  my  dear  sir,'  said  the  vicar,  striking 
his  fist  upon  the  bedpost  for  emphasis.  '  Here  are 
you,  Stephen  Fitzmaurice  Smith,  living  in  London, 
but  springing  from  Caxbury.  Here  in  this  book  is  a 
genealogical  tree  of  the  Stephen  Fitzmaurice  Smiths 
of  Caxbury  Manor.  You  may  be  only  a  family  of  pro- 
fessional men  now  —  I  am  not  inquisitive :  I  don't 
ask  questions  of  that  kind ;  it  is  not  in  me  to  do  so 
— but  it  is  as  plain  as  the  nose  in  your  face  that 
there's  your  origin !  And,  Mr.  Smith,  I  congratulate 
you  upon  your  blood ;  blue  blood,  sir ;  and,  upon  my  ./^ 
life,  a  very  desirable  colour,  as  the  world  goes.' 

*  I  wish  you  could  congratulate  me  upon  some  more 
tangible  quality,'  said  the  younger  man,  sadly  no  less 
than  modestly. 

'  Nonsense !  that  will  come  with  time.  You  are 
young :  all  your  life  is  before  you.  Now  look — see 
how  far  back  in  the  mists  of  antiquity  ray  own  family 
of  Swancourt  have  a  root.  Here,  you  see,'  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  the  page,  '  is  Geoffrey,  the  one 
among  my  ancestors  who  lost  a  barony  because  he 
would  cut  his  joke.  Ah,  it's  the  sort  of  us  !  But 
the  story  is  too  long  to  tell  now.  Ay,  I'm  a  poor 
man — a  poor  gentleman,  in  fact :  those  I  would  be 
friends  with;  won't  be  friends  with  me;  those  who 
are  willing  to  be  friends  with  me,  I  am  above  being 
friends  with.  Beyond  dining  with  a  neighbouring 
incumbent  or  two,  and  an  occasional  chat — sometimes 

17  B 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

dinner — with  Lord  Luxellian,  a  connection  of  mine,  I 
am  in  absolute  soHtude — absolute.' 

'  You  have  your  studies,  your  books,  and  your — - 
daughter/ 

*  Oh  yes,  yes ;  and  I  don't  complain  of  poverty. 
Canto  coram  latrone.  Well,  Mr.  Smith,  don't  let  me 
detain  you  any  longer  in  a  sick  room.  Ha !  that 
reminds  me  of  a  story  I  once  heard  in  my  younger 
days.'  Here  the  vicar  began  a  series  of  small  private 
laughs,  and  Stephen  looked  inquiry.  *  Oh,  no,  no ! 
it  is  too  bad — too  bad  to  tell ! '  continued  Mr.  Swan- 
court  in  undertones  of  grim  mirth.  *  Well,  go  down- 
stairs ;  my  daughter  must  do  the  best  she  can  with 
you  this  evening.  Ask  her  to  sing  to  you — she  plays 
and  sings  very  nicely.  Good-night ;  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
known  you  for  five  or  six  years.  I'll  ring  for  some- 
body to  show  you  down.' 

*  Never  mind,'  said  Stephen,  *  I  can  find  the  way.' 
^And   he   went    downstairs,   thinking    of  the   delightful 
|freedom  of  manner  in   the    remoter  counties  in  com- 
parison with  the  reserve  of  London. 

*  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  my  father  was  rather  deaf,' 
said  Elfride  anxiously,  when  Stephen  entered  the  little 
drawing-room. 

*  Never  mind ;  I  know  all  about  it,  and  we  are  great 
friends,'  the  man  of  business  replied  enthusiastically. 
'  And,  Miss  Swancourt,  will  you  kindly  sing  to  me  ?  ' 

To  Miss  Swancourt  this  request  seemed,  what  in 
fact  it  was,  exceptionally  point-blank  ;  though  she  guessed 
that  her  father  had  some  hand  in  framing  it,  knowing, 
rather  to  her  cost,  of  his  unceremonious  way  of  utilizing 
her  for  the  benefit  of  dull  sojourners.  At  the  same 
time,  as  Mr.  Smith's  manner  was  too  frank  to  provoke 
criticism,  and  his  age  too  little  to  inspire  fear,  she  was 
ready — not  to  say  pleased — to  accede.  Selecting  from 
the  canterbury  some  old  family  ditties,  that  in  years  gone 

i8 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

by  had  been  played  and  sung  by  her  mother,  Elfride 
sat  down  to  the  pianoforte,  and  began  *  'Twas  on  the 
evening  of  a  winter's  day,'  in  a  pretty  contralto  voice. 

<  Do  you  like  that  old  thing,  Mr.  Smith  ? '  she  said 
at  the  end. 

*Yes,  I  do  much,'  said  Stephen — words  he  would 
have  uttered,  and  sincerely,  to  anything  on  earth,  from 
glee  to  requiem,  that  she  might  have  chosen. 

'  You  shall  have  a  little  one  by  De  Leyre,  that  was 
given  me  by  a  young  French  lady  who  was  staying  at 
Endelstow  House : 

'"Je  I'ai  plante,  je  I'ai  vu  naitre, 
Ce  beau  rosier  oil  les  oiseaux,"  &c  ; 

and  then  I  shall  want  to  give  you  my  own  favourite  for 
the  very  last,  Shelley's  "  When  the  lamp  is  shattered,"  as 

Ct  to  music  by  my  poor  mother.     I  so  much  like  singing 
anybody  who  really  cares  to  hear  me.' 

Every  woman  who  makes  a  permanent  impression 
on  a  man  is  usually  recalled  to  his  mind's  eye  as  she 
appeared  in  one  particular  scene,  which  seems  ordained 
to  be  her  special  form  of  manifestation  throughout  the 
pages  of  his  memory.  As  the  patron  Saint  has  her 
attitude  and  accessories  in  mediaeval  illumination,  so 
the  sweetheart  may  be  said  to  have  hers  upon  the  table 
of  her  true  Love's  fancy,  without  which  she  is  rarely 
introduced  there  except  by  effort ;  and  this  though  she 
may,  on  further  acquaintance,  have  been  observed  in 
many  other  phases  which  one  would  imagine  to  be  far 
more  appropriate  to  love's  young  dream. 

Miss  Elfride's  image  chose  the  form  in  which  she 
was  beheld  during  these  minutes  of  singing^  for  her  per- 
manent attitude  of  visitation  to  Stephen's  eyes  during  his 
sleeping  and  waking  hours  in  after  days.  The  pr(^^ 
is  seen  of  a  young  woman  in  a  pale  gray  silk  dress  \N^n 
trimmings  of  swan's-down,  and  opening  up  from  a  point 
in  front,  like  a  waistcoat  without  a  shirt ;  the  cool  colour 

19 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

contrasting  admirably  with  the  warm  bloom  of  her  neck 
and  face.  The  furthermost  candle  on  the  piano  comes 
immediately  in  a  line  with  her  head,  and  half  invisible 
itself,  forms  the  accidentally  frizzled  hair  into  a  nebulous 
haze  of  light,  surrounding  her  crown  like  an  aureola. 
Her  hands  are  in  their  place  on  the  keys,  her  lips 
parted,  and  trilling  forth,  in  a  tender  diminuendo^  the 
closing  words  of  the  sad  apostrophe  : 

*  O  Love,  who  bewailest 

The  frailty  of  all  things  here, 
Why  choose  you  the  frailest 

For  your  cradle,  your  home,  and  your  bier  I ' 

Her  head  is  forward  a  little,  and  her  eyes  directed 
keenly  upward  to  the  top  of  the  page  of  music  con- 
fronting her.  Then  comes  a  rapid  look  into  Stephen's 
face,  and  a  still  more  rapid  look  back  again  to  h^r 
business,  her  face  having  dropped  its  sadness,  and 
acquired  a  certain  expression  of  mischievous  archness 
the  while ;  which  lingered  there  for  some  time,  but  was 
never  developed  into  a  positive  smile  of  flirtation. 

Stephen  suddenly  shifted  his  position  from  her  right 
hand  to  her  left,  where  there  was  just  room  enough  for 
a  small  ottoman  to  stand  between  the  piano  and  the 
corner  of  the  room.  Into  this  nook  he  squeezed  him- 
self, and  gazed  wistfully  up  into  Elfride's  face.  So  long 
and  so  earnestly  gazed  he,  that  her  cheek  deepened  to  a 
more  and  more  crimson  tint  as  each  line  was  added  to 
her  song.  Concluding,  and  pausing  motionless  after 
the  last  word  for  a  minute  or  two,  she  ventured  to  look 
at  him  again.  His  features  wore  an  expression  of 
'  unutterable^heaviness. 

^^^'You  don't  hear  many  songs,  do  you,   Mr.   Smith, 
^Btake  so  much  notice  of  these  of  mine  ?  ' 
"^   '  Perhaps  it  was  the  means  and  vehicle  of  the  song 
that  I  was  noticing :  I  mean  yourself,'  he  answered  gently. 
'  Now,  Mr.  Smith  ! ' 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  It  is  perfectly  true ;  I  don't  hear  much  singing. 
You  mistake  what  I  am,  I  fancy.  Because  I  come  as 
a  stranger  to  a  sechided  spot,  you  think  I  must  needs 
come  from  a  life  of  bustle,  and  know  the  latest  move- 
ments of  the  day.  But  I  don't.  My  life  is  as  quiet 
as  yours,  and  more  soUtary ;  solitary  as  death.' 

*  The  death  which  comes  from  a  plethora  of  life  ? 
But  seriously,  I  can  quite  see  that  you  are  not  the 
least  what  I  thought  you  would  be  before  I  saw  you. 
You  are  not  critical,  or  experienced,  or — much  to 
mind.  That's  why  I  don't  mind  singing  airs  to  you 
that  I  only  half  know.'  Finding  that  by  this  confession 
she  had  vexed  him  in  a  way  she  did  not  intend,  she 
added  naively,  *  I  mean,  Mr.  Smith,  that  you  are  better, 
not  worse,  for  being  only  young  and  not  very  experi- 
enced. You  don't  think  my  life  here  so  very  tame  and 
dull,  I  know.' 

'  I  do  not,  indeed,'  he  said  with  fervour.  *  It  must 
be  delightfully  poetical,  and  sparkling,  and  fresh, 
and ' 

*  There  you  go,  Mr.  Smith  !  Well,  men  of  another 
kind,  when  I  get  them  to  be  honest  enough  to  own 
the  truth,  think  just  the  reverse :  that  my  life  must  be 
a  dreadful  bore  in  its  normal  state,  though  pleasant 
for  the  exceptional  few  days  they  pass  here.' 

'  I  could  live  here  always  ! '  he  said,  and  with  such 
a  tone  and  look  of  unconscious  revelation  that  Elfride 
was  startled  to  find  that  her  harmonies  had  fired  a  small 
Troy,  in  the  shape  of  Stephen's  heart.     She  said  quickly : 

*  But  you  can't  live  here  always.' 

'  Oh  no.'  And  he  drew  himself  in  with  the  sensi- 
tiveness of  a  snail. 

Elfride's  emotions  were  sudden  as  his  in  kindling,  but 
the  least  of  woman's  lesser  infirmities — love  of  admira- 
tion— caijsed  an  inflammable  disposition  on  his  part,  so 
exactly  similar  to  her  own,  to  appear  as  meritorious  in 
him  as  modesty  made  her  own  seem  culpable  in  her. 

21 


IV 

'Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring  heap.' 

r  OR  reasons  of  his  own,  Stephen  Smith  was  stirring 
a  short  time  after  dawn  the  next  morning.  From  the 
window  of  his  room  he  could  see,  first,  two  bold 
escarpments  sloping  down  together  like  the  letter  V. 
Towards  the  bottom,  like  liquid  in  a  funnel,  appeared 
the  sea,  gray  and  small.  On  the  brow  of  one  hill,  of 
rather  greater  altitude  than  its  neighbour,  stood  the 
church  which  was  to  be  the  scene  of  his  operations. 
The  lonely  edifice  was  black  and  bare,  cutting  up  into 
the  sky  from  the  very  tip  of  the  hill.  It  had  a 
square  mouldering  tower,  owning  neither  battlement 
nor  pinnacle,  and  seemed  a  monolithic  termination,  of 
one  substance  with  the  ridge,  rather  than  a  structure 
raised  thereon.  Round  the  church  ran  a  low  wall ; 
over-topping  the  wall  in  general  level  was  the  grave- 
yard; not  as  a  graveyard  usually  is,  a  fragment  of 
landscape  with  its  due  variety  of  chiaro-oscuro,  but  a 
mere  profile  against  the  sky,  serrated  with  the  outlines 
of  graves  and  a  very  few  memorial  stones.  Not  a  tree 
could  exist  up  there :  nothing  but  the  monotonous 
gray-green  grass. 

Five  minutes  after  this  casual  survey  was  made  his 

22 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

bedroom  was  empty,  and  its  occupant  had  vanished 
quietly  from  the  house. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  was  again  in  the  room, 
looking  warm  and  glowing.  He  now  pursued  the 
artistic  details  of  dressing,  which  on  his  first  rising 
had  been  entirely  omitted.  And  a  very  blooming 
boy  he  looked,  after  that  mysterious  morning  scamper. 
His  mouth  was  a  triumph  of  its  class.  It  was  the 
cleanly-cut,-  piquantly  pursed-up  mouth  of  William 
Pitt,  as  represented  in  the  well  or  Httle  known  bust 
by  NoUekens — a  mouth  which  is  in  itself  a  young 
man's  fortune,  if  properly  exercised.  His  round  chin, 
where  its  upper  part  turned  inward,  still  continued  its 
perfect  and  full  curve,  seeming  to  press  in  to  a  point 
the  bottom  of  his  nether  lip  at  their  place  of  junction. 

Once  he  murmured  the  name  of  Elfride.  Ah,  there 
she  was  !  On  the  lawn  in  a  plain  dress,  without  hat  or 
bonnet,  running  with  a  boy's  velocity,  superadded  to  a 
girl's  lightness,  after  a  tame  rabbit  she  was  endeavouring 
to  capture,  her  strategic  intonations  of  coaxing  words 
alternating  with  desperate  rushes  so  much  out  of  keeping 
with  them,  that  the  hollowness  of  such  expressions  was 
but  too  evident  to  her  pet,  who  darted  and  dodged  in 
carefully  timed  counterpart. 

The  scene  down  there  was  altogether  different  from 
that  of  the  hills.  A  thicket  of  shrubs  and  trees  enclosed 
the  favoured  spot  from  the  wilderness  without ;  even  at 
this  time  of  the  year  the  grass  was  luxuriant  there.  No 
wind  blew  inside  the  protecting  belt  of  evergreens, 
wasting  its  force  upon  the  higher  and  stronger  trees 
forming  the  outer  margin  of  the  grove. 

Then  he  heard  a  heavy  person  shuffling  about  in 
slippers,  and  calling  '  Mr.  Smith ! '  Smith  proceeded 
to  the  study,  and  found  Mr.  Swancourt.  The  young 
man  expressed  his  gladness  to  see  his  host  downstairs. 

'  Oh  yes ;  I  knew  I  should  soon  be  right  again.  I 
have  not  made  the  acquaintance  of  gout  for  more  than 

23 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

tv/o  years,  and  it  generally  goes  off  the  second  nig] it. 
Well,  where  have  you  been  this  morning  ?  I  saw  you 
come  in  just  now,  I  think ! ' 

'  Yes  ;  I  have  been  for  a  walk.' 

'  Start  early  ?  ' 

*  Yes.' 

'  Very  early,  I  think  ?  ' 
'  Yes,  it  was  rather  early.' 

'  Which  way  did  you  go  ?  To  the  sea,  I  suppose. 
Everybody  goes  seaward.' 

'  No  ;  I  followed  up  the  river  as  far  as  the  park  wall.' 

*  You  are  different  from  your  kind.  Well,  I  suppose 
such  a  wild  place  is  a  novelty,  and  so  tempted  you  out 
of  bed  ? ' 

*  Not  altogether  a  novelty.     I  like  it.' 
The  youth  seemed  averse  to  explanation. 

*  You  must,  you  must ;  to  go  cock-watching  the 
morning  after  a  journey  of  fourteen  or  sixteen  hours. 
But  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,  and  I  am  glad  to 
see  that  yours  are  no  meaner.  After  breakfast,  but  not 
before,  I  shall  be  good  for  a  ten  miles'  walk.  Master 
Smith.' 

Certainly  there  seemed  nothing  exaggerated  in  that 
assertion.  Mr.  Swancourt  by  daylight  showed  himself 
to  be  a  man  who,  in  common  with  the  other  two  people 
under  his  roof,  had  really  strong  claims  to  be  considered 
handsome, — handsome,  that  is,  in  the  sense  in  which 
the  moon  is  bright :  the  ravines  and  valleys  which,  on  a 
close  inspection,  are  seen  to  diversify  its  surface  being 
left  out  of  the  argument.  His  face  was  of  a  tint  that 
never  deepened  upon  his  cheeks  nor  lightened  upon  his 
forehead,  but  remained  uniform  throughout ;  the  usual 
neutral  salmon-colour  of  a  man  who  feeds  well — not  to 
say  too  well — and  does  not  think  hard  ;  every  pore 
being  in  visible  working  order.  His  tout  ensemble  was 
that  of  a  highly  improved  class  of  farmer,  dressed  up 
in  the  wrong  clothes;  that  of  a  firm-standing  perpen- 

24 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

dicular  man,  whose  fall  would  have  been  backwards  in 
direction  if  he  had  ever  lost  his  balance. 

The  vicar's  background  was  at  present  what  a  vicar's 
background  should  be,  his  study.  Here  the  consistency 
ends.  All  along  the  chimneypiece  were  ranged  bottles 
of  horse,  pig,  and  cow  medicines,  and  against  the  wall 
was  a  high  table,  made  up  of  the  fragments  of  an  old 
oak  lych-gate.  Upon  this  stood  stuffed  specimens  of 
owls,  divers,  and  gulls,  and  over  them  bunches  of  wheat 
and  barley  ears,  labelled  with  the  date  of  the  year  that 
produced  them.  Some  cases  and  shelves,  more  or  less 
laden  with  books,  the  prominent  titles  of  which  were 
Dr.  Brown's  '  Notes  on  the  Romans,*  Dr.  Smith's 
'  Notes  on  the  Corinthians,'  and  Dr.  Robinson's  *  Notes 
on  the  Galatians,  Ephesians,  and  Philippians,'  just  saved 
the  character  of  the  place,  in  spite  of  a  girl's  doU's- 
house  standing  above  them,  a  marine  aquarium  in  the 
window,  and  Elfride's  hat  hanging  on  its  corner. 

*  Business,  business ! '  said  Mr.  Swancourt  after 
breakfast.  He  began  to  find  it  necessary  to  act  the 
part  of  a  fly-wheel  towards  the  somewhat  irregular 
forces  of  his  visitor. 

They  prepared  to  go  to  the  church;  the  vicar,  on 
second  thoughts,  mounting  his  coal-black  mare  to  avoid 
exerting  his  foot  too  much  at  starting.  Stephen  said 
he  should  want  a  man  to  assist  him.  '  Worm ! '  the 
vicar  shouted. 

A  minute  or  two  after  a  voice  was  heard  round  the 
corner  of  the  building,  mumbling,  '  Ah,  I  used  to  be 
strong  enough,  but  'tis  altered  now  !  Well,  there,  I'm 
as  independent  as  dne  here  and  there,  even  if  they  do 
write  'squire  after  their  names.' 

'  What's  the  matter  ? '  said  the  vicar,  as  William 
Worm  appeared;  when  the  remarks  were  repeated  to 
him. 

'  Worm  says  some  very  true  things  sometimes,'  Mr. 
Swancouit  said,  turning  to  Stephen.  '  Now,  as  regards 
c  25 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

that  word  "  esquire."  Why,  Mr.  Smith,  that  word 
*'  esquire  "  is  gone  to  the  dogs, — used  on  the  letters  of 
every  jackanapes  who  has  a  black  coat.  Anything  else, 
Worm?' 

'  Ay,  the  folk  have  begun  frying  again  !  * 

*  Dear  me  !     I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.' 

'  Yes,'  Worm  said  groaningly  to  Stephen,  '  I've  got 
such  a  noise  in  my  head  that  there's  no  living  night 
nor  day.  'Tis  just  for  all  the  world  like  people  frying 
fish  :  fry,  fry,  fry,  all  day  long  in  my  poor  head,  till  I 
don't  know  whe'r  I'm  here  or  yonder.  There,  God 
A'mighty  will  find  it  out  sooner  or  later,  I  hope,  and 
relieve  me.' 

*  Now,  my  deafness,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt  impres- 
sively, 'is  a  dead  silence;  but  William  Worm's  is  that 
of  people  frying  fish  in  his  head.  Very  remarkable, 
isn't  it  ? ' 

'  I  can  hear  the  frying-pan  a-fizzing  as  naterel  as  life,' 
said  Worm  corroboratively. 

*  Yes,  it  is  remarkable,'  said  Mr.  Smith. 

'  Very  peculiar,  very  peculiar,'  echoed  the  vicar ;  and 
they  all  then  followed  the  path  up  the  hill,  bounded  on 
each  side  by  a  Httle  stone  wall,  from  which  gleamed 
fragments  of  quartz  and  blood-red  marbles,  apparently 
of  inestimable  value,  in  their  setting  of  brown  alluvium. 
Stephen  walked  with  the  dignity  of  a  man  close  to  the 
horse's  head.  Worm  stumbled  along  a  stone's  throw  in 
the  rear,  and  Elfride  was  nowhere  in  particular,  yet 
everywhere;  sometimes  in  front,  sometimes  behind, 
sometimes  at  the  sides,  hovering  about  the  procession 
like  a  butterfly;  not  definitely  engaged  in  travelling, 
yet'  somehow  chiming  in  at  points  with  the  general 
progress. 

The  vicar  explained  things  as  he  went  on  :  *  The 
fact  is,  Mr.  Smith,  I  didn't  want  this  bother  of  church 
restoration  at  all,  but  it  was  necessary  to  do  something 

in  self-defence,  on  account  of  those  d dissenters  : 

26 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

I  use  the  word  in  its  scriptural  meaning,  of  course,  not 
as  an  expletive.' 

'  How  very  odd ! '  said  Stephen,  with  the  concern 
demanded  of  serious  friendliness. 

'  Odd  ?     That's  nothing  to  how  it  is  in  the  parish  of 

Twinkley.     Both  th3  churchwardens  are ;  there,  I 

won't  say  what  they  are ;  and  the  clerk  and  the  sexton 
as  well.' 

'  How  very  strange  ! '  said  Stephen. 

*  Strange  ?  My  dear  sir,  that's  nothing  to  how  it  is 
in  the  parish  of  Sinnerton.  However,  as  to  our  own 
parish,  I  hope  we  shall  make  some  progress  soon.' 

*  You  must  trust  to  circumstances.' 

'  There  are  no  circumstances  to  trust  to.  We  may 
as  well  trust  in  Providence  if  we  trust  at  all.  But  here 
we  are.  A  wild  place,  isn't  it  ?  But  I  like  it  on  such 
days  as  these.' 

The  churchyard  was  entered  on  this  side  by  a  stone 
stile,  over  which  having  clambered,  you  remained  still 
on  the  wild  hill,  the  within  not  being  so  divided  from 
the  without  as  to  obliterate  the  sense  of  open  freedom. 
A  delightful  place  to  be  buried  in,  postulating  that 
delight  can  accompany  a  man  to  his  tomb  under  any 
circumstances.  There  was  nothing  horrible  in  this 
churchyard,  in  the  shape  of  tight  mounds  bonded  with 
sticks,  which  shout  imprisonment  in  the  ears  rather 
than  whisper  rest ;  or  trim  garden-flowers,  which  only 
raise  images  of  people  in  new  black  crape  and  white 
handkerchiefs  coming  to  tend  them ;  or  wheel-marks, 
which  remind  us  of  hearses  and  mourning  coaches ;  or 
cypress-bushes,  which  make  a  parade  of  sorrow;  or 
coffin-boards  and  bones  lying  behind  trees,  showing 
that  we  are  only  leaseholders  of  our  graves.  No ; 
nothing  but  long,  wild,  untutored  grass,  diversifying  the 
forms  of  the  mounds  it  covered, — themselves  irregularly 
shaped,  with  no  eye  to  effect ;  the  impressive  presence 
of  the  old  mountain  that  all  this  was  a  part  of  being 

27 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

nowhere  excluded  by  disguising  art.  Outside  were 
similar  slopes  and  similar  grass ;  and  then  the  serene 
impassive  sea,  visible  to  a  width  of  half  the  horizon, 
and  meeting  the  eye  with  the  effect  of  a  vast  con- 
cave, like  the  interior  of  a  blue  vessel.  Detached 
rocks  stood  upright  afar,  a  collar  of  foam  girding  their 
bases,  and  repeating  in  its  whiteness  the  plumage  of 
a  countless  multitude  of  gulls  that  restlessly  hovered 
about. 

*  Now,  Worm ! '  said  Mr.  Swancourt  sharply ;  and 
Worm  started  into  an  attitude  of  attention  at  once  to 
receive  orders.  Stephen  and  himself  were  then  left  in 
possession,  and  the  work  went  on  till  early  in  the 
afternoon,  when  dinner  was  announced  by  Unity  of 
the  vicarage  kitchen  running  up  the  hill  without  a 
bonnet. 

Elfride  did  not  make  her  appearance  inside  the 
building  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  came  then  by 
special  invitation  from  Stephen  during  dinner.  She 
looked  so  intensely  living  and  full  of  movement  as  she 
came  into  the  old  silent  place,  that  young  Smith's  world 
began  to  be  lit  by  *  the  purple  light '  in  all  its  definite- 
ness.  Worm  was  got  rid  of  by  sending  him  to  measure 
the  height  of  the  tower. 

What  could  she  do  but  come  close — so  close  that  a 
minute  arc  of  her  skirt  touched  his  foot — and  asked 
him  how  he  was  getting  on  with  his  sketches,  and  set 
herself  to  learn  the  principles  of  practical  mensuration  as 
applied  to  irregular  buildings  ?  Then  she  must  ascend 
the  pulpit  to  re-imagine  for  the  hundredth  time  how  it 
would  seem  to  be  a  preacher. 

Presently  she  leant  over  the  front  of  the  pulpit.     • 

*  Don't  you  tell  papa,  will  you,  Mr.  Smith,  if  I  tell 
you  something?'  she  said  with  a  sudden  impulse  to 
make  a  confidence. 

*  Oh  no,  that  I  won't,'  said  he,  staring  up. 

2S 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Well,  I  write  papa's  sermons  for  him  very  often,  and 
he  preaches  them  better  than  he  does  his  own  ;  and  then 
afterwards  he  talks  to  people  and  to  me  about  what  he 
said  in  his  sermon  to-day,  and  forgets  that  I  wrote  it 
for  him.     Isn't  it  absurd  ?  ' 

*  How  clever  you  must  be ! '  said  Stephen.  '  I 
couldn't  write  a  sermon  for  the  world.' 

*  Oh,  it's  easy  enough,'  she  said,  descending  from 
the  pulpit  and  coming  close  to  him  to  explain  more 
vividly.  '  You  do  it  like  this.  Did  you  ever  play  a 
game  of  forfeits  called  "  When  is  it  ?  where  is  it  ?  what 
is  it?"' 

*  No,  never.' 

'  Ah,  that's  a  pity,  because  writing  a  sermon  is  very 
much  like  playing  that  game.  You  take  the  text.  You 
think,  why  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  and  so  on.  You  put  that 
down  under  "  Generally."  Then  you  proceed  to  the 
First,  Secondly,  and  Thirdly.  Papa  won't  have  Fourthlys 
— says  they  are  all  my  eye.  Then  you  have  a  final 
Collectively,  several  pages  of  this  being  put  in  great 
black  brackets,  writing  opposite,  "  Leave  this  out  if  the 
farmers  are  falling  asleep. ^^  Then  comes  your  In  Con- 
clusion, then  A  Few  Words  And  I  Have  Done.  Well, 
all  this  time  you  have  put  on  the  back  of  each  page, 
"  Keep  your  voice  down  " — I  mean,'  she  added,  correcting 
herself,  '  that's  how  I  do  in  papa's  sermon-book,  because 
otherwise  he  gets  louder  and  louder,  till  at  last  he  shouts 
like  a  farmer  up  a-field.  Oh,  papa  is  so  funny  in  some 
things ! ' 

Then,  after  this  childish  burst  of  confidence,  she 
was  frightened,  as  if  warned  by  womanly  instinct,  which 
for  the  moment  her  ardour  had  outrun,  that  she  had 
been  too  forward  to  a  comparative  stranger. 

Elfride  saw  her  father  then,  and  went  away  into  the 
wind,  being  caught  by  a  gust  as  she  ascended  the 
churchyard  slope,  in  which  gust  she  had  the  motions, 
without  the  motives,  of  a  hoiden ;  the  grace,  without  the 

29 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

self-consciousness,  of  a  pirouetter.  She  conversed  for 
a  minute  or  two  with  her  father,  and  proceeded  home- 
ward, Mr.  Swancourt  coming  on  to  the  church  to 
Stephen.  The  wind  had  freshened  his  warm  complexion 
as  it  freshens  the  glow  of  a  brand.  He  was  in  a  mood 
of  jollity,  and  watched  Elfride  down  the  hill  with  a 
smile. 

'  You  little  flyaway !  you  look  wild  enough  now,'  he 
said,  and  turned  to  Stephen.  '  But  she's  not  a  wild 
child  at  all,  Mr.  Smith.  As  steady  as  you;  and  that 
you  are  steady  I  see  from  your  diligence  here.' 

'  I  think  Miss  Swancourt  very  clever,'  Stephen 
observed. 

'Yes,  she  is;  certainly,  she  is,'  said  papa,  turning 
his  voice  as  much  as  possible  to  the  neutral  tone  of 
disinterested  criticism.  *  Now,  Smith,  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing ;  but  she  mustn't  know  it  for  the  world — not  for 
the  world,  mind,  for  she  insists  upon  keeping  it  a  dead 
secret.  Why,  she  writes  my  sermons  for  me  often,  and  a 
very  good  job  she  makes  of  them  ! ' 

'  She  can  do  anything.' 

'  She  can  do  that.  The  little  rascal  has  the  very 
trick  of  the  trade.  But,  mind  you.  Smith,  not  a  word 
about  it  to  her,  not  a  single  word ! ' 

'  Not  a  word,'  said  Smith. 

*  Look  there,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt.  *  What  do  you 
think  of  my  roofing  ? '  He  pointed  with  his  walking- 
stick  at  the  chancel  roof. 

'  Did  you  do  that,  sir  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  I  worked  in  shirt-sleeves  all  the  time  that  was 
going  on.  I  pulled  down  the  old  rafters,  fixed  the  new 
ones,  put  on  the  battens,  slated  the  roof,  all  with  my 
own  hands,  Worm  being  my  assistant.  We  worked  like 
slaves,  didn't  we.  Worm  ? ' 

*  Ay,  sure,  we  did ;  harder  than  some  here  and  there 
— hee,  hee ! '  said  William  Worm,  cropping  up  from 
somewhere.      '  Like  slaves,  'a  b'lieve — hee,  hee  !     And 

30 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

weren't  ye  foaming  mad,  sir,  when  the  nails  wouldn't 
go  straight  ?     Mighty  I !     There,  'tisn't  so  bad  to  cuss 
and  keep  it  in  as  to  cuss  and  let  it  out,  is  it,  sir  ? ' 
i  Well— why?' 

*  Because  you,  sir,  when  ye  were  a-putting  on  the 
roof,  only  used  to  cuss  in  your  mind,  which  is,  I 
suppose,  no  harm  at  all/ 

*  I  don't  think  you  know  what  goes  on  in  my  mind, 
Worm/ 

*  Oh,  doan't  I,  sir — hee,  hee !  Maybe  I'm  but  a 
poor  wambling  thing,  sir,  and  can't  read  much ;  but  I 
can  spell  as  well  as  some  here  and  there.  Doan't  ye 
mind,  sir,  that  blustrous  night  when  ye  asked  me  to 
hold  the  candle  to  ye  in  yer  workshop,  when  you  were 
making  a  new  chair  for  the  chancel  ?  * 

*  Yes  ;  what  of  that  ? ' 

*I  stood  with  the  candle,  and  you  said  you  liked 
company,  if  'twas  only  a  dog  or  cat — maning  me ;  and 
the  chair  wouldn't  do  nohow.' 

*Ah,  I  remember.* 

*  No ;  the  chair  wouldn't  do  nohow.  *A  was  very 
well  to  look  at ;  but.  Lord  ! ' 

*  Worm,  how  often  have  I  corrected  you  for  irreverent 
speaking  ? ' 

*  — 'A  was  very  well  to  look  at,  but  you  couldn't  sit 
in  the  chair  nohow.  'Twas  all  a-twist  wi'  the  chair, 
like  the  letter  Z,  directly  you  sat  down  upon  the  chair. 
*'  Get  up.  Worm,"  says  you,  when  you  seed  the  chair  go 
all  a-sway  wi'  me.  Up  you  took  the  chair,  and  flung  en 
like  fire  and  brimstone  to  t'other  end  of  your  shop — all 
in  a  passion.  "  Damn  the  chair  !  "  says  I.  "  Just  what 
I  was  thinking,"  says  you,  sir.  "  I  could  see  it  in  your 
face,  sir,"  says  I,  "  and  I  hope  you  and  God  will  forgi'e 
me  for  saying  what  you  wouldn't."  To  save  your  life 
you  couldn't  help  laughing,  sir,  at  a  poor  wambler 
reading  your  thoughts  so  plain.  Ay,  I'm  as  wise  as  one 
here  and  there.' 

3i 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  I  thought  you  had  better  have  a  practical  man  to 
go  over  the  church  and  tower  with  you,'  Mr.  Swancourt 
said  to  Stephen  the  following  morning,  '  so  I  got  Lord 
Luxellian's  permission  to  send  for  a  man  when  you 
came.  I  told  him  to  be  there  at  ten  o'clock.  He's  a 
very  intelligent  man,  and  he  will  tell  you  all  you  want 
to  know  about  the  state  of  the  walls.  His  name  is 
John  Smith.' 

Elfride  did  not  like  to  be  seen  again  at  the  church 
with  Stephen.  '  I  will  watch  here  for  your  appearance 
at  the  top  of  the  tower,'  she  said  laughingly.  '  I  shall 
see  your  figure  against  the  sky.' 

*  And  when  I  am  up  there  I'll  wave  my  handkerchief 
to  you.  Miss  Swancourt,'  said  Stephen.  '  In  twelve 
minutes  from  this  present  moment,'  he  added,  looking 
at  his  watch,  '  I'll  be  at  the  summit  and  look  out  for 
you.' 

She  went  round  to  the  corner  of  the  shrubbery, 
whence  she  could  watch  him  down  the  slope  leading 
to  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the  church  stood. 
There  she  saw  waiting  for  him  a  white  spot — a  mason 
in  his  working  clothes.  Stephen  met  this  man  and 
stopped. 

To  her  surprise,  instead  of  their  moving  on  to  the 
churchyard,  they  both  leisurely  sat  down  upon  a  stone 
close  by  their  meeting-place,  and  remained  as  if  in 
deep  conversation.  Elfride  looked  at  the  time ;  nine 
of  the  twelve  minutes  had  passed,  and  Stephen  showed 
no  signs  of  moving.  More  minutes  passed — she  grew 
cold  with  waiting,  and  shivered.  It  was  not  till  the 
end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  that  they  began  to  slowly 
wend  up  the  hill  at  a  snail's  pace. 

*  Rude  and  unmannerly ! '  she  said  to  herself, 
colouring  with  pique.  *  Anybody  would  think  he  was 
in  love  with  that  horrid  mason  instead  of  with ' 

The  sentence  remained  unspoken,  though  not  un- 
thought. 

32 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

She  returned  to  the  porch. 

'  Is  the  man  you  sent  for  a  lazy,  sit-still,  do-nothing 
kind  of  man  ?  '  she  inquired  of  her  father. 

'  No,'  he  said  surprised ;  '  quite  the  reverse.  He 
is  Lord  Luxellian's  master-mason,  John  Smith.' 

'  Oh,'  said  Elfride  indifferently,  and  returned  towards 
her  bleak  station,  and  waited  and  shivered  again.  It 
was  a  trifle,  after  all — a  childish  thing — looking  out 
from  a  tower  and  waving  a  handkerchief.  But  her  new 
friend  had  promised,  and  why  should  he  tease  her  so  ? 
The  effect  of  a  blow  is  as  proportionate  to  the  texture 
of  the  object  struck  as  to  its  own  momentum ;  and  she 
had  such  a  superlative  capacity  for  being  wounded  that 
little  hits  struck  her  hard. 

It  was  not  till  the  end  of  half  an  hour  that  two 
figures  were  seen  above  the  parapet  of  the  dreary  old 
pile,  motionless  as  bitteilhs  on  a  ruined  mosque.  Even 
then  Stephen  was  not  true  enough  to  perform  what  he 
was  so  courteous  to  promise,  and  he  vanished  without 
making  a  sign. 

He  returned  at  midday.  Elfride  looked  vexed  when 
unconscious  that  his  eyes  were  upon  her;  when  con- 
scious, severe.  However,  her  attitude  of  coldness  had 
long  outlived  the  coldness  itself,  and  she  could  no 
longer  utter  feigned  words  of  indifference. 

*  Ah,  you  weren't  kind  to  keep  me  waiting  in  the  cold, 
and  break  your  promise,'  she  said  at  last  reproachfully, 
in  tones  too  low  for  her  father's  powers  of  hearing. 

'  Forgive,  forgive  me  ! '  said  Stephen  with  dismay. 
'  I  had  forgotten — quite  forgotten  !  Something  pre- 
vented my  remembering.' 

'  Any  further  explanation  ? '  said  Miss  Capricious, 
pouting.  >5, 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  looked 
askance. 

'  None,'  he  said,  with  the  accent  of  one  who  con- 
cealed a  sin. 

33  c 


'Bosom!d  high  in  tufted  trees.' 

It  was  breakfast  time. 

As  seen  from  the  vicarage  dining-room,  which  took 
a  warm  tone  of  light  from  the  fire,  the  weather  and 
scene  outside  seemed  to  have  stereotyped  themselves 
in  unreHeved  shades  of  gray.  The  long-armed  trees 
and  shrubs  of  juniper,  cedar,  and  pine  varieties,  were 
grayish-black ;  those  of  the  broad-leaved  sort,  together 
with  the  herbage,  were  grayish-green ;  the  eternal  hills 
and  tower  behind  them  were  grayish-brown  ;  the  sky, 
dropping  behind  all,  gray  of  the  purest  melancholy. 

Yet  in  spite  of  this  sombre  artistic  effect,  the  morn- 
ing was  not  one  which  tended  to  lower  the  spirits.  It 
was  even  cheering.  For  it  did  not  rain,  nor  was  rain 
likely  to  fall  for  many  days  to  come. 

Elfride  had  turned  from  the  table  towards  the  fire 
and  was  idly  elevating  a  hand-screen  before  her  face, 
when  she  heard  the  click  of  a  little  gate  outside. 

*  Ah,  here's  the  postman  ! '  she  said,  as  a  shuffling, 
active  man  came  through  an  opening  in  the  shrubbery 
and  across  the  lawn.  She  vanished,  and  met  him  in  the 
porch,  afterwards  coming  in  with  her  hands  behind  her 
back. 

34 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

*  How  many  are  there  ?  Three  for  papa,  one  foi 
Mr.  Smith,  none  for  Miss  Swancourt.  And,  papa, 
look  here,  one  of  yours  is  from — whom  do  you  think  ? 
— Lord  LuxeUian.  And  it  has  something  hard  in  it 
— a  lump  of  something.  I've  been  feehng  it  through 
the  envelope,  and  can't  think  what  it  is.' 

*  \Vhat  does  Luxellian  write  for,  I  wonder  ? '  Mr. 
Swancourt  had  said  simultaneously  with  her  words. 
He  handed  Stephen  his  letter,  and  took  his  own, 
putting  on  his  countenance  a  higher  class  of  look  than 
was  customary,  as  became  a  poor  gentleman  who  was 
going  to  read  a  letter  from  a  peer. 

Stephen  read  his  missive  with  a  countenance  quite 
the  reverse  of  the  vicar's. 

'Percy  Place,  TJmrsday  Evening. 

*Dear  Smith, — Old  H.  is  in  a  towering  rage  with 
you  for  being  so  long  about  the  church  sketches. 
Swears  you  are  more  trouble  than  you  are  worth.  He 
says  I  am  to  write  and  say  you  are  to  stay  no  longer 
on  any  consideration — that  he  would  have  done  it  all 
in  three  hours  very  easily.  I  told  him  that  you  were 
not  like  an  experienced  hand,  which  he  seemed  to 
forget,  but  it  did  not  make  much  difference.  However, 
between  you  and  me  privately,  if  I  were  you  I  would  not 
alarm  myself  for  a  day  or  so,  if  I  were  not  inclined  to 
return.  I  would  make  out  the  week  and  finish  my  spree. 
He  will  blow  up  just  as  much  if  you  appear  here  on 
Saturday  as  if  you  keep  away  till  Monday  morning. — 
Yours  very  truly, 

*  SiMPKiNs  Jenkins.* 

'  Dear  me — very  awkward  ! '  said  Stephen,  rather 
en  Vair^  and  confused  with  the  kind  of  confusion  tha^ 
assails  an  understrapper  when  he  has  been  enlarged 
by  accident  to  the  dimensions  of  a  superior,  and  is 
somewhat  rudely  pared  down  to  his  original  size. 

35 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  What  is  awkward  ?  '  said  Miss  Swancourt. 

Smith  by  this  time  recovered  his  equanimity,  and 
with  it  the  professional  dignity  of  an  experienced 
architect. 

'  Important  business  demands  my  immediate  pre- 
sence in  London,  I  regret  to  say,'  he  replied. 

'  What !  Must  you  go  at  once  ?  '  said  Mr.  Swan- 
court,  looking  over  the  edge  of  his  letter.  '  Important 
business  ?  A  young  fellow  like  you  to  have  important 
business  ! ' 

'The  truth  is,'  said  Stephen  blushing,  and  rather 
ashamed  of  having  pretended  even  so  slightly  to  a  con- 
sequence which  did  not  belong  to  him, — '  the  truth 
is,  Mr.  Hewby  has  sent  to  say  I  am  to  come  home ; 
and  I  must  obey  him.' 

'I  see ;  I  see.  It  is  pohtic  to  do  so,  you  mean. 
Now  I  can  see  more  than  you  think.  You  are  to  be 
his  partner.  I  booked  you  for  that  directly  I  read 
his  letter  to  me  the  other  day,  and  the  way  he  spoke 
of  you.  He  thinks  a  great  deal  of  you,  Mr.  Smith,  or 
he  wouldn't  be  so  anxious  for  your  return.' 

Unpleasant  to  Stephen  such  remarks  as  these  could 
not  sound ;  to  have  the  expectancy  of  partnership 
with  one  of  the  largest-practising  architects  in  London 
thrust  upon  him  was  cheering,  however  untenable  he 
felt  the  idea  to  be.  He  saw  that,  whatever  Mr.  Hewby 
might  think,  Mr.  Swancourt  certainly  thought  much 
of  him  to  entertain  such  an  idea  on  such  slender 
ground  as  to  be  absolutely  no  ground  at  all.  And 
then,  unaccountably,  his  speaking  face  exhibited  a 
cloud  of  sadness,  which  a  reflection  on  the  remote- 
ness of  any  such  contingency  could  hardly  have  sufficed 
to  cause. 

Elfride  was  struck  with  that  look  of  his ;  even  Mr. 
Swancourt  noticed  it. 

'Well,'  he  said  cheerfully,  '  never  mind  that  now. 
You  must  come  again  on  your  own  account ;   not  on 

36 


4 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

business.  Come  to  see  me  as  a  visitor,  you  know — 
say,  in  your  holidays — all  you  town  men  have  holidays 
like  schoolboys.     When  are  they  ?  ' 

'  In  August,  I  believe.' 

'  Very  well ;  come  in  August ;  and  then  you  need 
not  hurry  away  so.  I  am  glad  to  get  somebody  decent 
to  talk  to,  or  at,  in  this  outlandish  ultima  Thule.  But, 
by  the  bye,  I  have  something  to  say — you  won't  go 
to-day  ? ' 

'  No ;  I  need  not,'  said  Stephen  hesitatingly.  *  I 
am  not  obliged  to  get  back  before  Monday  morning.' 

*  Very  well,  then,  that  brings  me  to  what  I  am 
going  to  propose.  This  is  a  letter  from  Lord  Luxellian. 
I  think  you  heard  me  speak  of  him  as  the  resident 
landowner  in  this  district,  and  patron  of  this  living  ?  ' 

'  I — know  of  him.' 

•He  is  in  London  now.  It  seems  that  he  has 
run  up  on  business  for  a  day  or  two,  and  taken  Lady 
Luxellian  with  him.  He  has  written  to  ask  me  to  go 
to  his  house,  and  search  for  a  paper  among  his  private 
memoranda,  which  he  forgot  to  take  with  him.' 

'  What  did  he  send  in  the  letter  ? '  inquired 
Elfride. 

'The  key  of  a  private  desk  in  which  the  papers 
are.  He  doesn't  like  to  trust  such  a  matter  to  any 
body  else.  I  have  done  such  things  for  him  before. 
And  what  I  propose  is,  that  we  make  an  afternoon  of 
it — all  three  of  us.  Go  for  a  drive  to  Targan  Bay, 
come  home  by  way  of  Endelstow  House;  and  whilst 
I  am  looking  over  the  documents  you  can  ramble 
about  the  rooms  where  you  like.  I  have  the  run  of 
the  house  at  any  time,  you  know.  The  building, 
though  nothing  but  a  mass  of  gables  outside,  has  a 
splendid  hall,  staircase,  and  gallery  within ;  and  there 
are  a  few  good  pictures.' 

'  Yes,  there  are,'  said  Stephen. 

*  Have  you  seen  the  place,  then  ?  ' 

37 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  I  saw  it  as  I  came  by,'  he  said  hastily. 

*  Oh  yes ;  but  I  was  alluding  to  the  interior.  And 
the  church — St.  Eval's — is  much  older  than  our  St. 
Agnes'  here.  I  do  duty  in  that  and  this  alternately, 
you  know.  The  fact  is,  I  ought  to  have  some  help; 
riding  across  that  park  for  two  miles  on  a  wet  morning 
is  not  at  all  the  thing.  If  my  constitution  were  not 
well  seasoned,  as  thank  God  it  is,' — here  Mr.  Swan- 
court  looked  down  his  front,  as  if  his  constitution 
were  visible  there, — *  I  should  be  coughing  and  barking 
all  the  year  round.  And  when  the  family  goes  away, 
there  are  only  about  three  servants  to  preach  to  when 
I  get  there.  Well,  that  shall  be  the  arrangement,  then. 
Elfride,  you  will  like  to  go  ? ' 

Elfride  assented ;  and  the  little  breakfast-party  sepa- 
rated. Stephen  rose  to  go  and  take  a  few  final  mea- 
surements at  the  church,  the  vicar  following  him  to 
the  door  with  a  mysterious  expression  of  inquiry  on 
his  face. 

'You'll  put  up  with  our  not  having  family  prayer 
this  morning,  I  hope  ?  '  he  whispered. 

'  Yes ;  quite  so,'  said  Stephen. 

*  To  tell  you  the  truth,'  he  continued  in  the  same 
undertone,  '  we  don't  make  a  regular  thing  of  it ;  but 
when  we  have  strangers  visiting  us,  I  am  strongly  of 
opinion  that  it  is  the  proper  thing  to  do,  and  I  always 
do  it.  I  am  very  strict  on  that  point.  But  you, 
Smith,  there  is  something  in  your  face  which  makes 
me  feel  quite  at  home ;  no  nonsense  about  you,  in 
short.  Ah,  it  reminds  me  of  a  splendid  story  I  used 
to  hear  when  I  was  a  helter-skelter  young  fellow — 
such  a  story !  But ' — here  the  vicar  shook  his  head 
self-forbiddingly,  and  grimly  laughed. 

*  Was  it  a  good  story  ? '  said  young  Smith,  smiling 
too. 

*  Oh  yes ;  but  'tis  too  bad — too  bad  !  (Wouldn't  tell 
it  to  you  for  the  world ! ' 

38 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Stephen  went  across  the  lawn,  hearing  the  vicar 
chuckUng  privately  at  the  recollection  as  he  withdrew. 

They  started  at  three  o'clock.  The  gray  morning 
had  resolved  itself  into  an  afternoon  bright  ^vith  a 
pale  pervasive  sunlight,  without  the  sun  itself  being 
visible.  Lightly  they  trotted  along — the  wheels  nearly 
silent,  the  horse's  hoofs  clapping,  almost  ringing,  upon 
the  hard,  white,  turnpike  road  as  it  followed  the  level 
ridge  in  a  perfectly  straight  line,  seeming  to  be  absorbed 
ultimately  by  the  white  of  the  sky. 

Targan  Bay — which  had  the  merit  of  being  easily 
got  at — was  duly  visited.  They  then  swept  round  by 
innumerable  lanes,  in  which  not  twenty  consecutive 
yards  were  either  straight  or  level,  to  the  domain  of 
Lord  Luxellian.  A  woman  with  a  double  chin  and 
thick  neck,  like  Queen  Anne  by  Dahl,  threw  open  the 
lodge  gate,  a  little  boy  standing  behind  her. 

'  I'll  give  him  something,  poor  Httle  fellow,'  said 
Elfride,  pulling  out  her  purse  and  hastily  opening  it. 
From  the  interior  of  her  purse  a  host  of  bits  of  paper, 
like  a  flock  of  white  birds,  floated  into  the  air,  and  were 
blown  about  in  all  directions. 

'  Well,  to  be  sure ! '  said  Stephen  with  a  slight 
laugh. 

'  What  the  dickens  is  all  that  ? '  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 
'  Not  halves  of  bank-notes,  Elfride  ? ' 

Elfride  looked  annoyed  and  guilty.  '  They  are  only 
something  of  mine^^papa,'  she  faltered,  whilst  Stephen 
leapt  out,  and,  assisted  by  the  lodge-keeper's  little  boy, 
crept  about  round  the  wheels  and  horse's  hoofs  till  the 
papers  were  all  gathered  together  again.  He  handed 
them  back  to  her,  and  remounted. 

*  I  suppose  you  are  wondering  what  those  scraps 
were  ? '  she  said,  as  they  bowled  along  up  the  sycamore 
avenue.  *  And  so  I  may  as  well  tell  you.  They  are 
notes  for  a  romance  I  am  writing.' 

39 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

She  could  not  help  colouring  at  the  confession,  much 
as  she  tried  to  avoid  it. 

'  A  story,  do  you  mean  ? '  said  Stephen,  Mr.  Swan- 
court  half  listening,  and  catching  a  word  of  the  con- 
versation now  and  then. 

'  Yes ;  The  Cou7't  of  Kellyon  Castle ;  a  romance  of 
the  fifteenth  century.  Such  writing  is  out  of  date  now, 
I  know ;  but  I  Hke  doing  it.' 

'  A  romance  carried  in  a  purse !  If  a  highwayman 
were  to  rob  you,  he  would  be  taken  in.' 

'  Yes ;  that's  my  w^ay  of  carrying  manuscript.  The 
real  reason  is,  that  I  mostly  write  bits  of  it  on  scraps  of 
paper  when  I  am  on  horseback ;  and  I  put  them  there 
for  convenience.' 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  romance  when 
you  have  written  it  ?  '  said  Stephen. 

'  I  don't  know,'  she  replied,  and  turned  her  head  to 
look  at  the  prospect. 

For  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  precincts  of 
Endelstow  House.  Driving  through  an  ancient  gate- 
way of  dun  -  coloured  stone,  spanned  by  the  high- 
shouldered  Tudor  arch,  they  found  themselves  in  a 
spacious  court,  closed  by  a  fa-ade  on  each  of  its 
three  sides.  The  substantial  portions  of  the  existing 
building  dated  from  the  reign  of  Henry  VIH. ;  but 
the  picturesque  and  sheltered  spot  had  been  the 
site  of  an  erection  of  a  much  earlier  date.  A 
licence  to  crenellate  7nansuin  infra  7nafiermm  siium 
was  granted  by  Edward  H.  to  '  Hugo  Luxellen 
chivaler ; '  but  though  the  faint  outhne  of  the  ditch 
and  mound  was  visible  at  points,  no  sign  of  the 
original  building  remained. 

The  windows  on  all  sides  were  long  and  many- 
mullioned ;  the  roof  lines  broken  up  by  dormer  lights 
of  the  same  pattern.  The  apex  stones  of  these  dormers, 
together  with  those  of  the  gables,  were  surmounted  by 
grotesque  figures  in  rampant,  passant,  and  couchant 
40 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

variety.  Tall  octagonal  and  twisted  chimneys  thrust 
themselves  high  up  into  the  sky,  surpassed  in  height, 
however,  by  some  poplars  and  sycamores  at  the  back, 
which  showed  their  gently  rocking  summits  over  ridge 
and  parapet.  In  the  corners  of  the  court  polygonal 
bays,  whose  surfaces  were  entirely  occupied  by  buttresses 
and  windows,  broke  into  the  squareness  of  the  enclosure  ; 
and  a  far-projecting  oriel,  springing  from  a  fantastic 
series  of  mouldings,  overhung  the  archway  of  the  chief 
entrance  to  the  house. 

As  Mr.  Swancourt  had  remarked,  he  had  the  freedom 
of  the  mansion  in  the  absence  of  its  owner.  Upon  a 
statement  of  his  errand  they  were  all  admitted  to  the 
library,  and  left  entirely  to  themselves.  Mr.  Swan- 
court  was  soon  up  to  his  eyes  in  the  examination 
of  a  heap  of  papers  he  had  taken  from  the  cabinet 
described  by  his  correspondent.  Stephen  and  Elfride 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  wander  about  till  her  father 
was  ready. 

Elfride  entered  the  gallery,  and  Stephen  followed  her 
without  seeming  to  do  so.  It  was  a  long  sombre 
apartment,  enriched  with  fittings  a  century  or  so  later 
in  style  than  the  walls  of  the  mansion.  Pilasters  of 
Renaissance  workmanship  supported  a  cornice  from 
which  sprang  a  curved  ceiling,  panelled  in  the  awkward 
twists  and  curls  of  the  period.  The  old  Gothic  quarries 
still  remained  in -the  upper  portion  of  the  large  window 
at  the  end,  though  they  had  made  way  for  a  more 
modern  form  of  glazing  elsewhere. 

Stephen  was  at  one  end  of  the  gallery  looking  towards 
Elfride,  who  stood  in  the  midst,  beginning  to  feel  some- 
what depressed  by  the  society  of  Luxellian  shades  of 
cadaverous  complexion  fixed  by  Holbein,  Kneller,  and 
Lely,  and  seeming  to  gaze  at  and  through  her  in  a 
moralizing  mood.  The  silence,  which  cast  almost  a 
spell  upon  them,  was  broken  by  the  sudden  opening  of 
a  door  at  the  far  end. 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Out  bounded  a  pair  of  little  girls,  lightly  yet  warmly 
dressed.  Their  eyes  were  sparkling;  their  hair  swing- 
ing about  and  around ;  their  red  mouths  laughing  with 
undloyed  gladness. 

'  Ah,  Miss  Swancourt :  dearest  Elfie !  we  heard  you. 
Are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?  You  are  our  little  mamma, 
are  you  not — our  big  mamma  is  gone  to  London,'  said 
one. 

*  Let  me  tiss  you,'  said  the  other,  in  appearance  very 
much  like  the  first,  but  to  a  smaller  pattern. 

Their  pink  cheeks  and  yellow  hair  were  speedily 
intermingled  with  the  folds  of  Elfride's  dress  ;  she  then 
stooped  and  tenderly  embraced  them  both. 

'  Such  an  odd  thing,'  said  Elfride,  smiling,  and  turn 
ing  to  Stephen.     '  They  have  taken  it  into  their  heads 
lately  to  call  me  "  little  mamm.a,"  because  I  am  very 
fond  of  them,  and  wore  a  dress  the  other  day  something 
like  one  of  Lady  Luxellian's.' 

These  two  young  creatures  were  the  Honourable 
Mary  and  the  Honourable  Kate — scarcely  appearing 
large  enough  as  yet  to  bear  the  weight  of  such  pon- 
derous prefixes.  They  were  the  only  two  children  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Luxellian,  and,  as  it  proved,  had 
been  left  at  home  during  their  parents'  temporary 
absence,  in  the  custody  of  nurse  and  governess.  Lord 
Luxellian  was  dotingly  fond  of  the  children ;  rather 
indifferent  towards  his  wife,  since  she  had  begun 
to  show  an  inclination  not  to  please  him  by  giving 
him  a  boy. 

All  children  instinctively  ran  after  Elfride,  looking 
upon  her  more  as  an  unusually  nice  large  specimen  of 
their  own  tribe  than  as  a  grown-up  elder.  It  had  now 
become  an  established  rule,  that  whenever  she  met 
them — indoors  or  out-of-doors,  weekdays  or  Sundays — 
they  were  to  be  severally  pressed  against  her  face  and 
bosom  for  the  space  of  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  and  other- 
wise made  much  of  on  the  delightful  system  of  cumu- 

42 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

lative  epithet  and  caress  to  which  unpractised  girls  will 
occasionally  abandon  themselves. 

A  look  of  misgiving  by  the  youngsters  towards  the 
door  by  which  they  had  entered  directed  attention  to 
a  maid-servant  appearing  from  the  same  quarter,  to  put 
an  end  to  this  sweet  freedom  of  the  poor  Honourables 
Mary  and  Kate. 

*  I  wish  you  lived  here,  Miss  Swancourt,'  piped  one 
like  a  melancholy  bullfinch. 

'  So  do  I,'  piped  the  other  hke  a  rather  more 
melancholy  bullfinch.  '  Mamma  can't  play  with  us 
so  nicely  as  you  do.  I  don't  think  she  ever  learnt 
playing  when  she  was  little.  When  shall  we  come  to 
see  you  ? ' 

'  As  soon  as  you  like,  dears.' 

'  And  sleep  at  your  house  all  night  ?  That's  what  I 
mean  by  coming  to  see  you.  I  don't  care  to  see  people 
with  hats  and  bonnets  on,  and  all  standing  up  and 
walking  about.' 

'  As  soon  as  we  can  get  mamma's  permission  you 
shall  come  and  stay  as  long  as  ever  you  like.  Good- 
bye ! ' 

The  prisoners  were  then  led  off,  Elfride  again  turning 
her  attention  to  her  guest,  whom  she  had  left  standing 
at  the  remote  end  of  the  gallery.  On  looking  around 
for  him  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Elfride  stepped 
down  to  the  Hbrary,  thinking  he  might  have  rejoined 
her  father  there.  But  Mr.  Swancourt,  now  cheerfully 
illuminated  by  a  pair  of  candles,  was  still  alone,  un- 
tying packets  of  letters  and  papers,  and  tying  them 
up  again. 

As  Elfride  did  not  stand  on  a  suflSciently  intimate 
footing  with  the  object  of  her  interest  to  justify  her,  as 
a  proper  young  lady,  to  commence  the  active  search 
for  hira  that  youthful  impulsiveness  prompted,  and  as, 
nevertheless,  for  a  nascent  reason  connected  with  those 
divinely  cut  Hps  of  his,  she  did  not  like  him  to  be  absent 

43 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

from  her  side,  she  wandered  desultorily  back  to  the  oak 
staircase,  pouting  and  casting  her  eyes  about  in  hope  of 
discerning  his  boyish  figure.  * 

Though  daylight  still  prevailed  in  the  rooms,  the 
corridors  were  in  a  depth  of  shadow — chill,  sad,  and 
silent ;  and  it  was  only  by  looking  along  them  towards 
light  spaces  beyond  that  anything  or  anybody  could  be 
discerned  therein.  One  of  these  light  spots  she  found 
to  be  caused  by  a  side-door  with  glass  panels  in  the 
upper  part.  Elfride  opened  it,  and  found  herself  con- 
fronting a  secondary  or  inner  lawn,  separated  from  the 
principal  law"  front  by  a  shrubbery. 

'And  now  she  saw  a  perplexing  sight.  At  right 
angles  to  the  face  of  the  wing  she  had  emerged  from, 
and  within  a  few  feet  of  the  door,  jutted  out  another 
wing  of  the  mansion,  lower  and  with  less  architectural 
character.  Immediately  opposite  to  her,  in  the  wall 
of  this  wing,  was  a  large  broad  window,  having  its 
blind  drawn  down,  and  illuminated  by  a  light  in  the 
room  it  screened. 

On  the  blind  was  a  shadow  from  somebody  close 
inside  it — a  person  in  profile.  The  profile  was  un- 
mistakably that  of  Stephen.  It  was  just  possible  to 
see  that  his  arms  were  uplifted,  and  that  his  hands 
held  an  article  of  some  kind.  Then  another  shadow 
appeared — also  in  profile — and  came  close  to  him. 
This  was  the  shadow  of  a  woman.  She  turned 
her  back  towards  Stephen :  he  lifted  and  held  out 
what  now  proved  to  be  a  shawl  or  mantle — placed 
it  carefully  —  so  carefully  —  round  the  lady ;  disap- 
peared ;  reappeared  in  her  front  —  fastened  the 
mantle.  Did  he  then  kiss  her?  Surely  not.  Yet 
the  motion  anight  have  been  a  kiss.  Then  both 
shadows  swelled  to  colossal  dimensions  —  grew  dis- 
torted— vanished. 

Two  minutes  elapsed. 

'Ah,    Miss    Swancourt !     I    am    so    glad    to    find 
44 


A    PAIR    OF   BLUE   EYES 

you.  I  was  looking  for  you,'  said  a  voice  at  her 
elbow  —  Stephen's  voice.  She  stepped  into  the 
passage. 

'  Do  you  know  any  of  the  members  of  this  establish- 
ment ? '  said  she. 

'  Not  a  single  one  :  how  should  I  ?  '  he  replied. 


VI 

*  Fare  thee  weel  awhile  ! ' 

Simultaneously  with  the  conclusion  of 

Stephen's  remark,  the  sound  of  the  closing  of 
an  external  door  in  their  immediate  neighbourhood 
reached  Elfride's  ears.  It  came  from  the  further  side 
of  the  wing  containing  the  illuminated  room.  She 
then  discerned,  by  the  aid  of  the  dusky  departing 
light^  a  figure,  whose  sex  was  undistinguishable,  walk- 
ing down  the  gravelled  path  by  the  parterre  towards 
the  river.  The  figure  grew  fainter,  and  vanished 
under  the  trees. 

Mr.  Swancourt's  voice  was  heard  calling  out  their 
names  from  a  distant  corridor  in  the  body  of  the 
building.  They  retraced  their  steps,  and  found  him 
with  his  coat  buttoned  up  and  his  hat  on,  awaiting 
their  advent  in  a  mood  of  self-satisfaction  at  having 
brought  his  search  to  a  successful  close.  The  carriage 
was  brought  round,  and  without  further  delay  the  trio 
drove  away  from  the  mansion,  under  the  echoing 
gateway  arch,  and  along  by  the  leafless  sycamores,  as 
the  stars  began  to  kindle  their  trembling  lights  behind 
the  maze  of  branches  and  twigs. 

No  words  were  spoken  either  by  youth  or  maiden. 
46 


X 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

Her  unpractised  mind  was  completely  occupied  in 
fathoming  its  recent  acquisition.  The  young  man 
who  had  inspired  her  with  such  novelty  of  feeling,  who 
had  come  directly  from  London  on  business  to  her 
father,  having  been  brought  by  chance  to  Endelstow 
House  had,  by  some  means  or  other,  acquired  the 
privilege  of  approaching  some  lady  he  had  found 
therein,  and  of  honouring  her  by  petits  soins  of  a 
marked  kind, — all  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour. 

What  room  were  they  standing  in  ?  thought  Elfride. 
As  nearly  as  she  could  guess,  it  was  Lord  Luxellian's 
business-room,  or  office.  What  people  were  in  the 
house  ?  None  but  the  governess  and  servants,  as  far 
as  she  knew,  and  of  these  he  had  professed  a  total 
ignorance.  Had  the  person  she  had  indistinctly  seen 
leaving  the  house  anything  to  do  with  the  performance  ? 
It  was  impossible  to  say  without  appealing  to  the 
culprit  himself,  and  that  she  would  never  do.  The 
more  Elfride  reflected,  the  more  certain  did  it  appear 
that  the  meeting-<\vas  a  chance  rencounter,  and  not 
an  appointment.  On  the  ultimate  inquiry  as  to  the 
individuality  of  the  woman,  Elfride  at  once  assumed 
that  she  could  not  be  an  inferior.  Stephen  Smith 
was  not  the  man  to  care  about  passages-at-love  with 
women  beneath  him.  Though  gentle,  ambition  was 
visible  in  his  kindling  eyes ;  he  evidently  hoped  for 
much ;  hoped  indefmitely,  but  extensively.  Elfride 
was  puzzled,  and  being  puzzled,  was,  by  a  natural 
sequence  of  girlish  sensations,  vexed  with  him.  No 
more  pleasure  came  in  recognizing  that  from  liking  to 
attract  him  she  was  getting  on  to  love  him,  boyish  as 
he  was  and  innocent  as  he  had  seemed. 

They  reached  the  bridge  which  formed  a  link  between 
the  eastern  and  western  halves  of  the  parish.  Situated 
in  a  valley  that  was  bounded  outwardly  by  the  sea,  it 
formed  a  point  of  depression  from  which  the  road 
ascended  with  great  steepness  to  West  Endelstow  and 
47 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

the  Vicarage.  There  was  no  absolute  necessity  for 
either  of  them  to  alight,  but  as  it  was  the  vicar's  custom 
after  a  long  journey  to  humour  the  horse  in  making 
this  winding  ascent,  Elfride,  moved  by  an  imitative 
instinct,  suddenly  jumped  out  when  Pleasant  had  just 
begun  to  adopt  the  deliberate  stalk  he  associated  with 
this  portion  of  the  road. 

The  young  man  seemed  glad  of  any  excuse  for  break- 
ing the  silence.  '  Why,  Miss  Swancourt,  what  a  risky 
thing  to  do  ! '  he  exclaimed,  immediately  following  her 
example  by  jumping  down  on  the  other  side. 

'  Oh  no,  not  at  all,'  replied  she  coldly ;  the  shadow 
phenomenon  at  Endelstow  House  still  paramount 
within  her. 

Stephen  walked  along  by  himself  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  wrapped  in  the  rigid  reserve  dictated  by  her 
tone.  Then  apparently  thinking  that  it  was  only  for 
girls  to  pout,  he  came  serenely  round  to  her  side,  and 
offered  his  arm  with  Castilian  gallantry,  to  assist  her  in 
ascending  the  remaining  three-quarters  of  the  steep. 

Here  was  a  temptation  :  it  was  the  first  time  in  her 
life  that  Elfride  had  been  treated  as  a  grown-up  woman 
in  this  way — offered  an  arm  in  a  manner  implying  that 
she  had  a  right  to  refuse  it.  Till  to-night  she  had 
never  received  mascuHne  attentions  beyond  those  which 
might  be  contained  in  such  homely  remarks  as  '  Elfride, 
give  me  your  hand ; '  '  Elfride,  take  hold  of  my  arm,' 
from  her  father.  Her  callow  heart  made  an  epoch  of 
the  incident;  she  considered  her  array  of  feelings,  for 
and  against.  Collectively  they  were  for  taking  this 
offered  arm ;  the  single  one  of  pique  determined  her 
to  punish  Stephen  by  refusing. 

'  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Smith ;  I  can  get  along  better 
by  myself.' 

It  was  Elfride's  first  fragile  attempt  at  browbeating 
a  lover.  Fearing  more  the  issue  of  such  an  undertaking 
than   what    a    gentle   young   man    might   think   of  her 

48 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

waywardness,  she  immediately  afterwards  determined  to 
please  herself  by  reversing  her  statement. 

*  On  second  thoughts,  I  will  take  it,'  she  said. 
They  slowly  went  their  way  up  the  hill,  a  few  yards 

behind  the  carriage. 

'  How  silent  you  are.  Miss  Swancourt ! '  Stephen 
observed. 

*  Perhaps  I  think  you  silent  too,'  she  returned. 

*  I  may  have  reason  to  be.' 

*  Scarcely ;  it  is  sadness  that  makes  people  silent, 
and  you  can  have  none.' 

'  You  don't  know :  I  have  a  trouble ;  though  some 
might  think  it  less  a  trouble  than  a  dilemma.' 

'  What  is  it  ?  '  she  asked  impulsively. 

Stephen  hesitated.  '  I  might  tell,'  he  said  ;  '  at  the 
same  time,  perhaps,  it  is  as  well ' 

She  let  go  his  arm  and  imperatively  pushed  it  from 
her,  tossing  her  hea4.  She  had  just  learnt  that  a  good 
deal  of  dignity  is  lost  by  asking  a  question  to  which 
an  answer  is  refused,  even  ever  so  politely ;  for  though 
politeness  does  good  service  in  cases  of  requisition  and 
compromise,  it  but  little  helps  a  direct  refusal.  '  I 
don't  wish  to  know  anything  of  it;  I  don't  wish  it,' 
she  went  on.  '  The  carriage  is  waiting  for  us  at  the 
top  of  the  hill ;  we  must  get  in  ; '  and  Elfride  flitted  to 
the  front.  '  Papa,  here  is  your  Elfride ! '  she  exclaimed 
to  the  dusky  figure  of  the  old  gentleman,  as  she  sprang 
up  and  sank  by  his  side  without  deigning  to  accept  aid 
from  Stephen. 

'  Ah,  yes  ! '  uttered  the  vicar  in  artificially  alert  tones, 
awaking  from  a  most  profound  sleep,  and  suddenly 
preparing  to  alight. 

<  Why,  what  are  you  doing,  papa  ?  We  are  not  home 
yet.' 

'  Oh  no,  no ;  of  course  not ;  we  are  not  at  home 
yet,'  Mr.  Swancourt  said  very  hastily,  endeavouring  to 
dodge  back  to  his  original  position  with  the  air  of  a 

49  ^ 


^ 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

man  who  had  not  moved  at  all.  '  The  fact  is  I  was  so 
lost  in  deep  meditation  that  I  forgot  whereabouts  we 
were.'     And  in  a  minute  the  vicar  was  snoring  again. 

That  evening,  being  the  last,  seemed  to  throw  an 
exceptional  shade  of  sadness  over  Stephen  Smith,  and 
the  repeated  injunctions  of  the  vicar,  that  he  was  to 
come  and  revisit  them  in  the  summer,  apparently  tended 
less  to  raise  his  spirits  than  to  unearth  some  misgiving. 

He  left  them  in  the  gray  light  of  dawn,  whilst  the 
colours  of  earth  were  sombre,  and  the  sun  was  yet 
hidden  in  the  east.  Elfride  had  fidgeted  all  night  in 
her  little  bed  lest  none  of  the  household  should  be 
awake  soon  enough  to  start  him,  and  also  lest  she 
might  miss  seeing  again  the  bright  eyes  and  curly  hair, 
to  which  their  owner's  possession  of  a  hidden  mystery 
added  a  deeper  tinge  of  romance.  To  some  extent — 
so  soon  does  womanly  interest  take  a  solicitous  turn — 
she  felt  herself  responsible  for  his  safe  conduct.  They 
breakfasted  before  daylight ;  Mr.  Swancourt,  being  more 
and  more  taken  with  his  guest's  ingenuous  appearance, 
having  determined  to  rise  early  and  bid  him  a  friendly 
farewell.  It  was,  however,  rather  to  the  vicar's  asto- 
nishment, that  he  saw  Elfride  walk  in  to  the  breakfast- 
table,  candle  in  hand. 

Whilst  William  Worm  performed  his  toilet  (during 
which  performance  the  inmates  of  the  vicarage  were 
always  in  the  habit  of  waiting  with  exemplary  patience), 
Elfride  wandered  desultorily  to  the  summer  house. 
Stephen  followed  her  thither.  The  copse-covered  valley 
was  visible  from  this  position,  a  mist  now  lying  all  along 
its  length,  hiding  the  stream  which  trickled  through  it, 
though  the  observers  themselves  were  in  clear  air. 

They  stood  close  together,  leaning  over  the  rustic 
balustrading  which  bounded  the  arbour  on  the  outward 
side,  and  formed  the  crest  of  a  steep  slope  beneath. 
Elfride  constrainedly  pointed  out  some  features  of  the 

50 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

distant  uplands  rising  irregularly  opposite.  But  the 
artistic  eye  was,  either  from  nature  or  circumstance, 
very  faint  in  Stephen  now,  and  he  only  half  attended  to 
her  description,  as  if  he  spared  time  from  some  other 
thought  going  on  within  him. 

'  Well,  good-bye,'  he  said  suddenly ;  '  I  must  never 
see  you  again,  I  suppose.  Miss  Swancourt,  in  spite  of 
invitations.' 

His  genuine  tribulation  played  directly  upon  the 
delicate  chords  of  her  nature.  She  could  afford  to 
forgive  him  for  a  concealment  or  two.  Moreover,  the 
shyness  which  would  not  allow  him  to  loolc  her  in  the 
face  lent  bravery  to  her  own  eyes  and  tongue. 

'  Oh,  do  come  again,  Mr.  Smith ! '  she  said  prettily. 

*  I  should  delight  in  it ;  but  it  will  be  better  if  I  do 
not.' 

*Why?'  \ 

'  Certain  circumstances  in  connection  with  me  make 
it  undesirable.     Not  on  my  account ;  on  yours.' 

'  Goodness  !  As  if  anything  in  connection  with  you 
could  hurt  me,'  she  said  with  serene  supremacy;  but 
seeing  that  this  plan  of  treatment  was  inappropriate, 
she  tuned  a  smaller  note.  '  Ah,  I  know  why  you  will 
not  come.  You  don't  .want  to.  You'll  go  home  to 
London  and  to  all  the  stirring  people  there,  and  will 
never  want  to  see  us  any  more ! ' 

'You  know  I  have  no  such  reason.' 

'  And  go  on  writing  letters  to  the  lady  you  are 
engaged  to,  just  as  before.' 

'  AVhat  does  that  mean  ?     I  am  not  engaged.' 

'  You  wrote  a  letter  to  a  Miss  Somebody ;  I  saw  it 
in  the  letter-rack.' 

'  Pooh !  an  elderly  woman  who  keeps  a  stationer's 
shop ;  and  it  was  to  tell  her  to  keep  my  newspapers  till 
I  get  back.' 

'  You  needn't  have  explained  :  it  was  not  my  business 
at  all.'     Miss  Elfride  was  rather  reheved  to  hear  that 

51 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

statement,  nevertheless.     *And  you  won't  come  again 
to  see  my  father  ? '  she  insisted. 

'  I  should  like  to — and  to  see  you  again,  but ' 

*  Will  you  reveal  to  me  that  matter  you  hide  ? '  she 
interrupted  petulantly. 

'  No ;  not  now.' 

She  could  not  but  go  on,  graceless  as  it  might 
seem. 

'  Tell  me  this,'  she  importuned  with  a  trembling 
mouth.  *  Does  any  meeting  of  yours  with  a  lady  at 
Endelstow  Vicarage  clash  with — any  interest  you  may 
take  in  me  ? ' 

He  started  a  little.  *  It  does  not,'  he  said  emphati- 
cally ;  and  looked  into  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  with  the 
confidence  that  only  honesty  can  give,  and  even  that 
to  youth  alone. 

The  explanation  had  not  come,  but  a  gloom  left  her. 
She  could  not  but  believe  that  utterance.  Whatever 
enigma  might  lie  in  the  shadow  on  the  blind,  it  was 
not  an  enigma  of  underhand  passion. 

She  turned  towards  the  house,  entering  it  through 
the  conservatory.  Stephen  went  round  to  the  front 
door.  Mr.  Swancourt  was  standing  on  the  step  in  his 
slippers.  Worm  was  adjusting  a  buckle  in  the  harness, 
and  murmuring  about  his  poor  head;  and  everything 
was  ready  for  Stephen's  departure. 

*  You  named  August  for  your  visit.  August  it  shall 
be;  that  is,  if  you  care  for  the  society  of  such  a 
fossilized  Tory,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

Mr.  Smith  only  responded  hesitatingly,  that  he 
should  hke  to  come  again. 

'You  said  you  would,  and  you  must,'  insisted 
Elfride,  coming  to  the  door  and  speaking  under  her 
father's  arm. 

Whatever  reason  the  youth  may  have  had  for  not 
wishing  to  enter  the  house  as  a  guest,  it  no  longer 
predominated.     He  promised,  and  bade  them  adieu, 

52 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

and  got  into   the   pony-carriage,   which    crept    up    the 
slope,  and  bore  him  out  of  their  sight. 

'  I  never  was  so  much  taken  with  anybody  in  my 
Hfe  as  I  am  with  that  young  fellow — never !  I  cannot 
understand  it — can't  understand  it  anyhow,'  said  Mr. 
Swancourt  quite  energetically  to  himself;  and  went 
mdoors. 


VII 

•  No  more  of  me  you  knew,  my  love !  * 

Stephen  smith  revisited  Endelstow  Vicarage, 
agreeably  to  his  promise.  He  had  a  genuine  artistic 
reason  for  coming,  though  no  such  reason  seemed  to 
be  required.  Six-and-thirty  old  seat  ends,  of  exquisite 
fifteenth-century  workmanship,  were  rapidly  decaying  in 
an  aisle  of  the  church ;  and  it  became  politic  to  make 
drawings  of  their  worm-eaten  contours  ere  they  were 
battered  past  recognition  in  the  turmoil  of  the  so-called 
restoration. 

He  entered  the  house  at  sunset,  and  the  world  was 
pleasant  again  to  the  two  fair-haired  ones.  A  momen- 
tary pang  of  disappointment  had,  nevertheless,  passed 
through  Elfride  when  she  casually  discovered  that  he 
had  not  come  that  minute  post-haste  from  London,  but 
had  reached  the  neighbourhood  the  previous  evening. 
Surprise  would  have  accompanied  the  feeling,  had  she 
not  remembered  that  several  tourists  were  haunting 
the  coast  at  this  season,  and  that  Stephen  might  have 
chosen  to  do  likewise. 

They  did  Uttle  besides  chat  that  evening,  Mr. 
Swancourt  beginning  to  question  his  visitor,  closely  yet 
paternally,  and  in  good  part,  on  his  hopes  and  pros- 

54 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

pects  from  the  profession  he  had  embraced.  Stephen 
gave  vague  answers.  The  next  day  it  rained.  In  the 
evening,  when  twenty-four  hours  of  Elfride  had  com- 
pletely rekindled  her  admirer's  ardour,  a  game  of  chess 
was  proposed  between  them. 

The  game  had  its  value  in  helping  on  the  develop- 
ments of  their  future. 

Elfride  soon  perceived  that  her  opponent  was  but 
a  learner.  She  next  noticed  that  he  had  a  very  odd 
way  of  handling  the  pieces  when  castling  or  taking  a 
man.  Antecedently  she  would  have  supposed  that 
the  same  performance  must  be  gone  through  by  all 
players  in  the  same  manner;  she  was  taught  by  his 
differing  action  thar^  ordinary  players,  who  learn  the 
game  by  sight,  unconsciously  touch  the  men  in  a 
stereotyped  way.  This  impression  of  indescribable 
oddness  in  Stephen's  touch  culminated  in  speech  when 
she  saw  him,  at  the  taking  of  one  of  her  bishops,  push 
it  aside  with  the  taking  man  instead  of  lifting  it  as  a 
preliminary  to  the  move. 

'  How  strangely  you  handle  the  men,  Mr.  Smith  ! ' 

<  Do  I  ?     I  am  sorry  for  that.' 

'  Oh  no — don't  be  sorry ;  it  is  not  a  matter  great 
enough  for  sorrow.     But  who  taught  you  to  play  ? ' 

'  Nobody,  Miss  Swancourt,'  he  said.  '  I  learnt  from 
a  book  lent  me  by  my  friend  Mr.  Knight,  the  noblest 
man  in  the  world.' 

'  But  you  have  seen  people  play  ? ' 

'  I  have  never  seen  the  playing  of  a  single  game. 
This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  had  the  opportunity  of 
playing  with  a  Hving  opponent.  I  have  worked  out 
many  games  from  books,  and  studied  the  reasons  of  the 
different  moves,  but  that  is  all.' 

This  was  a  full  explanation  of  his  mannerism ;  but 
the  fact  that  a  man  with  the  desire  for  chess  should 
have  grown  up  without  being  able  to  see  or  engage  in  a 
game  astonished  her  not  a  Httle.     She  pondered  on  the 

55 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

circumstfince  for  some  time,  looking  into  vacancy  and 
hindering  the  play. 

Mr.  Swancourt  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
board,  but  apparently  thinking  of  other  things.  Half  to 
himself  he  said,  pending  the  move  of  Elfride  : 

'  "  Quae  finis  aut  quod  me  manet  stipendium  ?  "  ' 

Stephen  replied  instantly : 

'  "  Effare  :  jussas  cum  fide  poenas  luam."  ' 

'  Excellent — prompt — gratifying  ! '  said  Mr.  Swan- 
court  with  feeling,  bringing  down  his  hand  upon  the 
table,  and  making  three  pawns  and  a  knight  dance  over 
their  borders  by  the  shaking.  '  I  was  musing  on  those 
words  as  applicable  to  a  strange  course  I  am  steering — 
but  enough  of  that.  I  am  delighted  with  you,  Mr. 
Smith,  for  it  is  so  seldom  in  this  desert  that  I  meet 
with  a  man  who  is  gentleman  and  scholar  enough  to 
continue  a  quotation,  however  trite  it  may  be.' 

'  I  also  apply  the  words  to  myself,'  said  Stephen 
quietly. 

'  You  ?  The  last  man  in  the  world  to  do  that,  I 
should  have  thought.' 

'  Come,'  murmured  Elfride  poutingly,  and  insinuating 
herself  between  them,  '  tell  me  all  about  it.  Come, 
construe,  construe  ! ' 

Stephen  looked  steadfastly  into  her  face,  and  said 
slowly,  and  in  a  voice  full  of  a  far-off  meaning  that 
seemed  quaintly  premature  in  one  so  young : 

'  Quae  finis  What  will  be  the  end^  aut  or^  quod  stipen- 
dium what  fine  ^  manet  me  awaits  me?  Effare  Speak 
out ;  luam  I  will  pay,  cum  fide  ivith  faith,  jussas  pcenas 
the  penalty  required.^ 

The  vicar,  who  had  listened  with  a  critical  com- 
pression of  the  lips  to  this  school-boy  recitation,  and  by 
reason  of  his  imperfect  hearing  had  missed  the  marked 
realism  of  Stephen's  tone  in  the  English  words,  now 
said  hesitatingly  :  '  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Smith  (I  know  you'll 
excuse  my  curiosity),  though  your  translation  was  un- 

56 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE    EYES 

exceptionably  correct  and  close,  you  have  a  way  of  pro- 
nouncing your  Latin  which  to  me  seems  most  peculiar. 
Not  that  the  pronunciation  of  a  dead  language  is  of 
much  importance ;  yet  your  accents  and  quantities  have 
a  grotesque  sound  to  my  ears.  I  thought  first  that  you 
had  acquired  your  way  of  breathing  the  vowels  from 
some  of  the  northern  colleges  ;  but  it  cannot  be  so  with 
the  quantities.  What  I  was  going  to  ask  was,  if  your 
instructor  in  the  classics  could  possibly  have  been  an 
Oxford  or  Cambridge  man  ?  ' 

'  Yes;  he  was  an  Oxford  man — Fellow  of  St.  Cyprian's.' 

'Really?' 

*  Oh  yes*;  thereVojo  doubt  about  it. 

*  The  oddest  thing  ever  I  heard  of ! '  said  Mr.  Swan- 
court,  starting  with  astonishment.  '  That  the  pupil  of 
such  a  man ' 

'  The  best  and  cleverest  man  in  England ! '  cried 
Stephen  enthusiastically. 

'  That  the  pupil  of  such  a  man  should  pro- 
nounce Latin  in  the  way  you  pronounce  it  beats  all  I 
ever  heard.     How  long  did  he  instruct  you  ?  ' 

*  Four  years.' 

*  Four  years  ! ' 

*  It  is  not  so  strange  when  I  explain,'  Stephen 
hastened  to  say.  '  It  was  done  in  this  way — by  letter. 
I  sent  him  exercises  and  construing  twice  a  week,  and 
twice  a  week  he  sent  them  back  to  me  corrected,  with 
marginal  notes  of  instruction.  That  is  how  I  learnt  my 
Latin  and  Greek,  such  as  it  is.  He  is  not  responsible 
for  my  scanning.     He  has  never  heard  me  scan  a  line.' 

'  A  novel  case,  and  a  singular  instance  of  patience ! ' 
cried  the  vicar. 

*  On  his  part,  not  on  mine.  Ah,  Henry  Knight  is 
one  in  a  thousand !  I  remember  his  speaking  to  me 
on  this  very  subject  of  pronunciation.  He  says  that, 
much  to  his  regret,  he  sees  a  time  coming  when  every 
man   will  pronounce  even   the  common   words   of  his 

»  57 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

own  tongue  as  seems  right  in  his  own  ears,  and  be 
thought  none  the  worse  for  it;  that  the  speaking  age 
is  passing  away,  to  make  room  for  the  writing  age.' 

Both  Elfride  and  her  father  had  waited  attentively 
to  hear  Stephen  go  on  to  what  would  have  been  the 
most  interesting  part  of  the  story,  namely,  what  cir- 
cumstances could  have  necessitated  such  an  unusual 
method  of  ediication.  But  no  further  explanation  was 
volunteered ;  and  they  saw,  by  the  young  man's  manner 
of  concentrating  himself  upon  the  chess-board,  that  he 
was  anxious  to  drop  the  subject. 

The  game  proceeded.  Elfride  played  by  rote ; 
Stephen  by  thought.  It  was  the  cruellest  thing  to 
checkmate  him  after  so  much  labour,  she  considered. 
What  was  she  dishonest  enough  to  do  in  her  com- 
passion ?  To  let  him  checkmate  her.  A  second  game 
followed ;  and  being  herself  absolutely  indifferent  as  to 
the  result  (her  playing  was  above  the  average  among 
women,  and  she  knew  it),  she  allowed  him  to  give 
checkmate  again.  A  final  game,  in  which  she  adopted 
the  Muzio  gambit  as  her  opening,  was  terminated  by 
Elfride's  victory  at  the  twelfth  move. 

Stephen  looked  up  suspiciously.  His  heart  was 
throbbing  even  more  excitedly  than  was  hers,  which 
itself  had  quickened  when  she  seriously  set  to  work 
on  this  last  occasion,  Mr.  Swancourt  had  left  the 
room. 

'  You  have  been  trifling  with  me  till  now ! '  he 
exclaimed,  his  face  flushing.  *  You  did  not  play  your 
best  in  the  first  two  games  ?  ' 

Elfride's  guilt  showed  in  her  face.  Stephen  became 
the  picture  of  vexation  and  sadness,  which,  relishable 
for  a  moment,  caused  her  the  next  instant  to  regret  the 
mistake  she  had  made. 

*  Mr.  Smith,  forgive  me  ! '  she  said  sweetly.  '  I  see 
now,  though  I  did  not  at  first,  that  what  I  have  done 
seems   like  contempt  for  your   skill.      But,   indeed,   I 

58 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

did  not  mean  it  in  that  sense.  I  could  not,  upon 
my  conscience,  win  a  victory  in  those  first  and  second 
games  over  one  who  fought  at  such  a  disadvantage 
and  so  manfully.' 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  murmured  bitterly, 
'  Ah,  you  are  cleverer  than  I.  You  can  do  everything 
— I  can  do  nothing !  O  Miss  Swancourt ! '  he  burst 
out  wildly,  his  heart  swelling  in  his  throat,  '  I  must 
tell  you  how  I  love  you  !  All  these  months  of  my 
absence  I  have  worshipped  you.' 

He  leapt  from  his  seat  like  the  impulsive  lad  that 
he  was,  slid  round  to  her  side,  and  almost  before  she 
suspected  it  his  arm  was  round  her  waist,  and  the 
two  sets  of  curls  intermingled. 

So  entirely  new  was  full-blown  love  to  Elfride,  that 
she  trembled  as  much  from  the  novelty  of  the  emotion 
as  from  the  emotion  itself.  Then  she  suddenly  with- 
drew herself  and  stood  upright,  vexed  that  she  had 
submitted  unresistingly  even  to  his  momentary  pres- 
sure. She  resolved  to  consider  this  demonstration  as 
premature. 

'  You  must  not  begin  such  things  as  those,'  she 
said  with  coquettish  hauteur  of  a  very  transparent 
nature.  '  And — you  must  not  do  so  again — and  papa 
is  coming.' 

'Let  me  kiss  you — only  a  little  one,'  he  said  with 
his  usual  delicacy,  and  without  reading  the  factitious- 
ness  of  her  manner. 

'  No ;  not  one,' 

*  Only  on  your  cheek  ? ' 

'  No.' 

'  Forehead  ? ' 

'  Certainly  not.' 

'  You  care  for  somebody  else,  then  ?  Ah,  I  thought 
so!' 

'  I  am  sure  1  do  not.' 

'  Nor  for  me  either  ? ' 

59 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  How  can  I  tell  ? '  she  said  simply,  the  simplicity 
lying  merely  in  the  broad  outlines  of  her  manner  and 
speech.  There  were  the  semitone  of  voice  and  half- 
hidden  expression  of  eyes  which  tell  the  initiated  how 
very  fragile  is  the  ice  of  reserve  at  these  times. 

Footsteps  were  heard.  Mr.  Swancourt  then  entered 
the  room,  and  their  private  colloquy  ended. 

'  The  day  after  this  partial  revelation,  Mr.  Swancourt 
proposed  a  drive  to  the  cliffs  beyond  Targan  Bay,  a 
distance  of  three  or  four  miles. 

Half  an  hour  before  the  time  of  departure  a  crash 
was  heard  in  the  back  yard,  and  presently  Worm  came 
in,  saying  partly  to  the  world  in  general,  partly  to  him- 
self, and  slightly  to  his  auditors  : 

'  Ay,  ay,  sure !  That  frying  of  fish  will  be  the  end 
of  William  Worm.  They  be  at  it  again  this  morning — 
same  as  ever — fizz,  fizz,  fizz  ! ' 

'  Your  head  bad  again.  Worm  ?  '  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 
'  What  was  that  noise  we  heard  in  the  yard  ?  * 

*  Ay,  sir,  a  weak  wambling  man  am  I ;  and  the  frying 
have  been  going  on  in  my  poor  head  all  through  the 
long  night  and  this  morning  as  usual;  and  I  was  so 
dazed  wi'  it  that  down  fell  a  piece  of  leg-wood  across 
the  shaft  of  the  pony-shay,  and  splintered  it  off.  "  Ay," 
says  I,  "  I  feel  it  as  if  'twas  my  own  shay ;  and  though 
I've  done  it,  and  parish  pay  is  my  lot  if  I  go  from 
here,  perhaps  I  am  as  independent  as  one  here  and 
there." ' 

'  Dear  me,  the  shaft  of  the  carriage  broken  ! '  cried 
Elfride.  She  was  disappointed :  Stephen  doubly  so. 
The  vicar  showed  more  warmth  of  temper  than  the 
accident  seemed  to  demand,  much  to  Stephen's  uneasi- 
ness and  rather  to  his  surprise.  He  had  not  supposed 
so  much  latent  sternness  could  co-exist  with  Mr.  Swan- 
court's  frankness  and  good-nature. 

*You  shall  not  be  disappointed,'  said  the  vicar  at 
length.     '  It  is  almost  too  long  a  distance  for  you  to 

60 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

walk.  Elfride  can  trot  down  on  her  pony,  and  you 
shall  have  my  old  nag,  Smith.' 

Elfride  exclaimed  triumphantly,  *You  have  never 
seen  me  on  horseback — Oh,  you  must ! '  She  looked 
at  Stephen  and  read  his  thoughts  immediately.  '  Ah, 
you  don't  ride,  Mr.  Smith  ? ' 

'  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  don't.' 

*  Fancy  a  man  not  able  to  ride ! '  said  she  rather 
pertly. 

The  vicar  came  to  his  rescue.  'That's  common 
enough;  he  has  had  other  lessons  to  learn.  Now,  I 
recommend  this  plan  :  let  Elfride  ride  on  horseback, 
and  you,  Mr.  Smith,  walk  beside  her.' 

The  arrangement  was  welcomed  with  secret  delight 
by  Stephen.  It  seemed  to  combine  in  itself  all  the 
advantages  of  a  long  slow  ramble  with  Elfride,  without 
the  contingent  possibility  of  the  enjoyment  being  spoilt 
by  her  becoming  weary.  The  pony  was  saddled  and 
brought  round. 

*  Now,  Mr.  Smith,'  said  the  lady  imperatively,  coming 
downstairs,  and  appearing  in  her  riding-habit,  as  she 
always  did  in  a  change  of  dress,  like  a  new  edition  of 
a  dehghtful  volume,  '  you  have  a  task  to  perform  to-day. 
These  earrings  are  my  very  favourite  darling  ones ;  but 
the  worst  of  it  is  that  they  have  such  short  hooks 
that  they  are  liable  to  be  dropped  if  I  toss  my  head 
about  much,  and  when  I  am  riding  I  can't  give  my 
mind  to  them.  It  would  be  doing  me  knight  service 
if  you  keep  your  eyes  fixed  upon  them,  and  remember 
them  every  minute  of  the  day,  and  tell  me  directly  I 
drop  one.  They  have  had  such  hairbreadth  escapes, 
haven't  they,  Unity  ? '  she  continued  to  the  parlour-maid 
who  was  standing  at  the  door. 

'  Yes,  miss,  that  they  have ! '  said  Unity  with  round- 
eyed  commiseration. 

'  Once  'twas  in  the  lane  that  I  found  one  of  them,' 
pursued  Elfride  reflectively. 

6i 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*And  then  'twas  by  the  gate  into  Eighteen  Acres,' 
Unity  chimed  in. 

'And  then  'twas  on  the  carpet  in  my  own  room,' 
rejoined  Elf  ride  merrily. 

'  And  then  'twas  dangling  on  the  embroidery  of  your 
petticoat,  miss ;  and  then  'twas  down  your  back,  miss, 
wasn't  it  ?  And  oh,  what  a  way  you  was  in,  miss,  wasn't 
you  ?  my  !   until  you  found  it ! ' 

Stephen  took  Elfride's  slight  foot  upon  his  hand : 
'  One,  two,  three,  and  up ! '  she  said. 

Unfortunately  not  so.  He  staggered  and  Hfted,  and 
the  horse  edged  round;  and  Elfride  was  ultimately 
deposited  upon  the  ground  rather  more  forcibly  than 
was  pleasant.     Smith  looked  all  contrition. 

'  Never  mind,'  said  the  vicar  encouragingly ;  '  try 
again !  'Tis  a  little  accomplishment  that  requires  some 
practice,  although  it  looks  so  easy.  Stand  closer  to  the 
horse's  head,  Mr.  Smith.' 

*  Indeed,  I  shan't  let  him  try  again,'  said  she  with  a 
microscopic  look  of  indignation.  '  Worm,  come  here, 
and  help  me  to  mount.'  Worm  stepped  forward,  and 
she  was  in  the  saddle  in  a  trice. 

Then  they  moved  on,  going  for  some  distance  in 
silence,  the  hot  air  of  the  valley  being  occasionally 
brushed  from  their  faces  by  a  cool  breeze,  which  wound 
its  way  along  ravines  leading  up  from  the  sea. 

*  I  suppose,'  said  Stephen,  '  that  a  man  who  can 
neither  sit  in  a  saddle  himself  nor  help  another  person 
into  one  seems  a  useless  incumbrance;  but,  Miss 
Swancourt,  I'll  learn  to  do  it  all  for  your  sake;  I 
will,  indeed.' 

*  What  is  so  unusual  in  you,'  she  said,  in  a  didac- 
tic tone  justifiable  in  a  horsewoman's  address  to  a  be- 
nighted walker,  '  is  that  your  knowledge  of  certain  things 
should  be  combined  with  your  ignorance  of  certain 
other  things.' 

Stephen  lifted  his  eyes  earnestly  to  hers. 
62 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  You  know,'  he  said,  '  it  is  simply  because  there 
are  so  many  other  things  to  be  learnt  in  this  wide  world 
that  I  didn't  trouble  about  that  particular  bit  of  know- 
ledge. I  thought  it  would  be  useless  to  me;  but  I 
don't  think  so  now.  I  will  learn  riding,  and  all  con- 
nected with  it,  because  then  you  would  like  me  better. 
Do  you  like  me  much  less  for  this  ? ' 

She  looked  sideways  at  him  with  critical  meditation 
tenderly  rendered. 

'Do  I  seem  like  La  Belle  Dame  sans  merciV  she 
began  suddenly,  without  replying  to  his  question. 
*  Fancy  yourself  saying,  Mr.  Smith ; 

"  I  sat  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long, 
For  sidelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  fairy's  song, 
She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet. 

And  honey  wild,  and  manna  dew  ; " 

and  that's  all  she  did.' 

^/  No,   no,'   said   the  young  man   stilly,  and  with  a 
rising  colour. 

•  "  And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said, 
I  love  thee  true." ' 

*  Not  at  all,'  she  I'ejoined  quickly.  *  See  how  I  can 
gallop.  Now,  Pansy,  off ! '  And  Elfride  started ;  and 
Stephen  beheld  her  light  figure  contracting  to  the 
dimensions  of  a  bird  as  she  sank  into  the  distance — her 
hair  flowing. 

He  walked  on  in  the  same  direction,  and  for  a  con- 
siderable time  could  see  no  signs  of  her  returning. 
Dull  as  a  flower  without  the  sun  he  sat  down  upon  a 
stone,  and  not  for  fifteen  minutes  was  any  sound  of 
horse  or  rider  to  be  heard.  Then  Elfride  and  Pansy 
appeared  on  the  hill  in  a  round  trot. 

'  Such  a  delightful  scamper  as  we  have  had ! '  she 

63 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

said,  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkling.  She 
turned  the  horse's  head,  Stephen  arose,  and  they  went 
on  again. 

*  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Smith,  after 
my  long  absence  ?  ' 

*  Do  you  remember  a  question  you  could  not  exactly 
answer  last  night — whether  I  was  more  to  you  than 
anybody  else  ?  '  said  he. 

'  I  cannot  exactly  answer  now,  either.' 

*  Why  can't  you  ?  ' 

'  Because  I  don't  know  if  /  am  more  to  you  than 
any  one  else.' 

*  Yes,  indeed,  you  are ! '  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of 
intensest  appreciation,  at  the  same  time  gliding  round 
and  looking  into  her  face. 

'  Eyes  in  eyes,'  he  murmured  playfully ;  and  she 
blushingly  obeyed,  looking  back  into  his. 

*  And  why  not  lips  on  lips  ? '  continued  Stephen 
daringly. 

*■  No,  certainly  not.  Anybody  might  look ;  and  it 
would  be  the  death  of  me.  You  may  kiss  my  hand  if 
you  like.' 

He  expressed  by  a  look  that  to  kiss  a  hand  through 
a  glove,  and  that  a  riding-glove,  was  not  a  great  treat 
under  the  circumstances. 

'  There,  then ;  I'll  take  my  glove  off.  Isn't  it  a 
pretty  white  hand  ?  Ah,  you  don't  want  to  kiss  it,  and 
you  shall  not  now  ! ' 

*  If  I  do  not,  may  I  never  kiss  again,  you  severe 
Elfride !  You  know  I  think  more  of  you  than  I  can 
tell ;  that  you  are  my  queen.  I  would  die  for  you, 
Elfride  1 ' 

A  rapid  red  again  filled  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked 
at  him  meditatively.  What  a  proud  moment  it  was  for 
Elfride  then !  She  was  ruling  a  heart  with  absolute 
despotism  for  the  first  time  in  her  fife. 

Stephen  stealthily  pounced  upon  her  hand. 
64 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

'  No  ;  I  won't,  I  won't ! '  she  said  intractably ;  '  and 
you  shouldn't  take  me  by  surprise.' 

There  ensued  a  mild  form  of  tussle  for  absolute 
possession  of  the  much-coveted  hand,  in  which  the 
boisterousness  of  boy  and  girl  was  far  more  prominent 
than  the  dignity  of  man  and  woman.  Then  Pansy 
became  restless.  Elfride  recovered  her  position  and 
remembered  herself. 

*  You  make  me  behave  in  not  a  nice  way  at  all !  ' 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  neither  of  pleasure  nor  anger, 
but  partaking  of  both.  *  I  ought  not  to  have  allowed 
such  a  romp !  We  are  too  old  now  for  that  sort  of 
thing.' 

'  I  hope  you  don't  think  me  too — too  much  of  a 
creeping-round  sort  of  man,'  said  he  in  a  penitent  tone, 
conscious  that  he  too  had  lost  a  little  dignity  by  the 
proceeding. 

'  You  are  too  familiar ;  and  I  can't  have  it !  Con- 
sidering the  shortness  of  the  time  we  have  known  each 
other,  Mr.  Smith,  you  take  too  much  upon  you.  You 
think  I  am  a  country  girl,  and  it  doesn't  matter  how 
you  behave  to  me  !  * 

*  I  assure  you.  Miss  Swancourt,  that  I  had  no  idea 
of  freak  in  my  mind.  I  wanted  to  imprint  a  sweet 
serious  kiss  upon  your  hand ;  and  that's  all.' 

*  Now,  that's  creeping  round  again !  And  you 
mustn't  look  into  my  eyes  so,'  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  at  him,  and  trotting  on  a  few  paces  in  advance. 
Thus  she  led  the  way  out  of  the  lane  and  across  some 
fields  in  the  direction  of  the  cliffs.  At  the  boundary 
of  the  fields  nearest  the  sea  she  expressed  a  wish  to 
dismount.  The  horse  was  tied  to  a  post,  and  they  both 
followed  an  irregular  path,  which  ultimately  terminated 
upon  a  flat  ledge  passing  round  the  face  of  the  huge 
blue-black  rock  at  a  height  about  midway  between  the 
sea  and  the  topmost  verge.  There,  far  beneath  and 
before  them,  lay  the  everlasting  stretch  of  ocean  ;  there, 

65  E 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

upon  detached  rocks,  were  the  white  screaming  gulls, 
seeming  ever  intending  to  settle,  and  yet  always  passing 
on.  Right  and  left  ranked  the  toothed  and  zigzag  line 
of  storm-torn  heights,  forming  the  series  which  culmi- 
nated in  the  one  beneath  their  feet. 

Behind  the  youth  and  maiden  was  a  tempting  alcove 
and  seat,  formed  naturally  in  the  beetling  mass,  and 
wide  enough  to  admit  two  or  three  persons.  Elfride 
sat  down,  and  Stephen  sat  beside  her. 

*  I  am  afraid  it  is  hardly  proper  of  us  to  be  here, 
either,'  she  said  half  inquiringly.  *  We  have  not 
known  each  other  long  enough  for  this  kind  of  thing, 
have  we ! ' 

'  Oh  yes,'  he  replied  judicially ;  *  quite  long  enough.' 

*  How  do  you  know  ?  ' 

'  It  is  not  length  of  time,  but  the  manner  in  which 
our  minutes  beat,  that  makes  enough  or  not  enough  in 
our  acquaintanceship.' 

'  Yes,  I  see  that.  But  I  wish  papa  suspected  or 
knew  what  a  very  new  thing  I  am  doing.  He  does 
not  think  of  it  at  all.' 

*  Darling  Elfie,  I  wish  we  could  be  married !  It  is 
wrong  for  me  to  say  it — I  know  it  is — before  you  know 
more  j  but  I  wish  we  might  be,  all  the  same.  Do  you 
love  me  deeply,  deeply  ?  ' 

*  No  ! '  she  said  in  a  fluster. 

At  this  point-blank  denial,  Stephen  turned  his  face 
away  decisively,  and  preserved  an  ominous  silence ; 
the  only  objects  of  interest  on  earth  for  him  being 
apparently  the  three  or  four-score  sea-birds  circling  in 
the  air  afar  off. 

'  I  didn't  mean  to  stop  you  quite,'  she  faltered  with 
some  alarm ;  and-  seeing  that  he  still  remained  silent, 
she  added  more  anxiously,  '  If  you  say  that  again, 
perhaps,  I  will  not  be  quite — quite  so  obstinate — if — 
if  you  don't  like  me  to  be.' 

*  Oh,  my  Elfride  ! '  he  exclaimed,  and  kissed  her. 

66 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

It  was  Elfride's  first  kiss.  And  so  awkward  and 
unused  was  she ;  full  of  striving — no  relenting.  There 
was  none  of  those  apparent  struggles  to  get  out  of  the 
trap  which  only  results  in  getting  further  in  :  no  final 
attitude  of  receptivity :  no  easy  close  of  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  hand  upon  hand,  face  upon  face,  and,  in  spite 
of  coyness,  the  Hps  in  the  right  place  at  the  supreme 
moment.  That  graceful  though  apparently  accidental 
falling  into  position,  which  many  have  noticed  as  pre- 
cipitating the  end  and  making  sweethearts  the  sweeter, 
was  not  here.  Why  ?  Because  experience  was  absent. 
A  woman  must  have  had  many  kisses  before  she 
kisses  well. 

'In  fact,  the  art  of  tendering  the  lips  for  these  amatory 
salutes  follows  the  principles  laid  down  in  treatises  on 
legerdemain  for  performing  the  trick  called  Forcing  a 
Card.  The  card  is  to  be  shifted  nimbly,  withdrawn, 
edged  under,  and  withal  not  to  be  offered  till  the 
moment  the  unsuspecting  person's  hand  reaches  the 
pack ;  this  forcing  to  be  done  so  modestly  and  yet  so 
coaxingly,  that  the  person  trifled  with  imagines  he  is 
really  choosing  what  is  in  fact  thrust  into  his  hand. 
r  Well,  there  were  no  such  faciHties  now ;  and  Stepherr 
was  conscious  of  it — first  with  a  momentary  regret  that 
his  kiss  should  be  spoilt  by  her  confused  receipt  of  it, 
and  then  with  the  pleasant  perception  that  her  awk) 


i  nessjwas  her  charm. 


AnHyou  do  care  for  me  and  love  me  ? '  said  he. 
'  Yes.' 

'  Very  much  ?  ' 
♦  Yes.' 

'  And  I  mustn't  ask  you  if  you'll  wait  for  me,  and  be 
my  wife  some  day  ? ' 

'  Why  not  ?  '  she  said  naively. 
'  There  is  a  reason  why,  my  Elfride.' 
'  Not  any  one  that  I  know  of.' 

'  Suppose  there  is  something  connected  with  me  which 
6y 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

makes  it  almost  impossible  for  you  to  agree  to  be  my 
wife,  or  for  your  father  to  countenance  such  an  idea  ? ' 

'  Nothing  shall  make  me  cease  to  love  you :  no 
blemish  can  be  found  upon  your  personal  nature.  That 
is  pure  and  generous,  I  know;  and  having  that,  how 
can  I  be  cold  to  you  ? ' 

*And  shall  nothing  else  affect  us — shall  nothing 
beyond  my  nature  be  a  part  of  my  quality  in  your  eyes, 
Elfie  ? ' 

'  Nothing  whatever,'  she  said  with  a  breath  of  relief. 
*  Is  that  all  ?  Some  outside  circumstance  ?  What  do 
I  care  ? ' 

'  You  can  hardly  judge,  dear,  till  you  know  what  hias 
to  be  judged.  For  that,  we  will  stop  till  we  get  home. 
I  believe  in  you,  but  I  cannot  feel  bright.' 

'  Love  is  new,  and  fresh  to  us  as  the  dew ;  and  we 
are  together.  As  the  lover's  world  goes,  this  is  a  great 
deal.  Stephen,  I  fancy  I  see  the  difference  between  me 
and  you — between  men  and  women  generally,  perhaps. 
I  am  content  to  build  happiness  on  any  accidental  basis 
that  may  lie  near  at  hand ;  you  are  for  making  a  world 
to  suit  your  happiness.' 

'  Elfride,  you  sometimes  say  things  which  make  you 
seem  suddenly  to  become  five  years  older  than  you  are, 
or  than  I  am;  and  that  remark  is  one.  I  couldn't 
think  so  old  as  that,  try  how  I  might.  .  .  .  And  no 
lover  has  ever  kissed  you  before  ?  ' 

'  Never.' 

'  I  knew  that ;  you  were  so  unused.  You  ride  well, 
but  you  don't  kiss  nicely  at  all ;  and  I  was  told  once, 
by  my  friend  Knight,  that  that  is  an  excellent  fault  in 
woman.' 

'  Now,  come ;  I  must  mount  again,  or  we  shall  not 
be  home  by  dinner-time.'  And  they  returned  to  where 
Pansy  stood  tethered.  *  Instead  of  entrusting  my  weight 
to  a  young  man's  unstable  palm,'  she  continued  gaily, 
'  I  prefer  a  surer  "  upping-stock  "  (as  the  villagers  call 

68 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

it),  in  the  form  of  a  gate.  There — now  I  am  myself 
again.' 

They  proceeded  homeward  at  the  same  walking  pace. 

Her  blitheness  won  Stephen  out  of  his  thoughtful- 
ness,  and  each  forgot  everything  but  the  tone  of  the 
moment. 

'  What  did  you  love  me  for  ? '  she  said,  after  a  long 
musing  look  at  a  flying  bird. 

*  I  don't  know,'  he  replied  idly. 

*  Oh  yes,  you  do,'  insisted  Elfride. 

*  Perhaps,  for  your  eyes. 

'  What  of  them  ? — now,  don't  vex  me  by  a  light 
answer.     What  of  my  eyes  ? ' 

'  Oh,  nothing  to  be  mentioned.  They  are  indiffer- 
ently good.' 

*  Come,  Stephen,  I  won't  have  that.  What  did  you 
love  me  for  ?  ' 

'  It  might  have  been  for  your  mouth  ? ' 
'  Well,  what  about  my  mouth  ? ' 

*  I  thought  it  was  a  passable  mouth  enough ' 

*  That's  not  very  comforting.' 

*  With  a  pretty  pout  and  sweet  lips ;  but  actually, 
nothing  more  than  what  everybody  has.' 

'  Don't  make  up  things  out  of  your  head  as  you 
go  on,  there's  a  dear  Stephen.  Now — what — did — 
you — love — me — for  ?  ' 

*  Perhaps,  'twas  for  your  neck  and  hair ;  though  I 
am  not  sure :  or  for  your  idle  blood,  that  did  nothing 
but  wander  away  from  your  cheeks  and  back  again ; 
but  I  am  not  sure.  Or  your  hands  and  arms,  that 
they  eclipsed  all  other  hands  and  arms ;  or  your  feet, 
that  they  played  about  under  your  dress  like  little 
mice;  or  your  tongue,  that  it  was  of  a  dear  delicate 
tone.     But  I  am  not  altogether  sure.' 

*  Ah,  that's  pretty  to  say ;  but  I  don't  care  for  your 
love,  if  it  made  a  mere  flat  picture  of  me  in  that  way, 
and  not  being  sure,  and    such    cold  reasoning;    but 

69 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

what  you  felt  I  was,  you  know,  Stephen '  (at  this  a 
stealthy  laugh  and  frisky  look  into  his  face),  '  when 
you  said  to  yourself,  "  I'll  certainly  love  that  young 
lady." ' 

'  I  never  said  it.' 

'  When  you  said  to  yourself,  then,  "  I  never  will 
love  that  young  lady."  ' 

'  I  didn't  say  that,  either.' 

'  Then  was  it,  "I  suppose  I  must  love  that  young 
lady  ?  " ' 

'No.' 

'  What,  then  ?  ' 

'  'Twas  much  more  fluctuating — not  so  definite.* 

'  Tell  me ;  do,  do.' 

'  It  was  that  I  ought  not  to  think  about  you  if  I 
loved  you  truly.' 

'  Ah,  that  I  don't  understand.  There's  no  getting 
it  out  of  you.  And  I'll  not  ask  you  ever  any  more — 
never  more  — to  say  out  of  the  deep  reality  of  your 
heart  what  you  loved  me  for.' 

*  Sweet  tantalizer,  what's  the  use  ?  It  comes  to 
this  sole  simple  thing :  That  at  one  time  I  had  never 
seen  you,  and  I  didn't  love  you ;  that  then  I  saw  you, 
and  I  did  love  you.     Is  that  enough  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  I  will  make  it  do.  ...  I  know,  I  think, 
what  I  love  you  for.  You  are  nice-looking,  of  course ; 
but  I  didn't  mean  for  that.  It  is  because  you  are  so 
docile  and  gentle.' 

'  Those  are  not  quite  the  correct  qualities  for  a  man 
to  be  loved  for,'  said  Stephen,  in  rather  a  dissatisfied 
tone  of  self-criticism.  '  Well,  never  mind.  I  must  ask 
your  father  to  allow  us  to  be  engaged  directly  we  get 
indoors.     It  will  be  for  a  long  time.' 

'  I  like  it  the  better.  .  .  .  Stephen,  don't  mention 
it  till  to-morrow.' 

'Why?' 

'  Because,  if  he  should  object — I  don't  think  he 
70 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

will ;  but  if  he  should — we  shall  have  a  day  longer  of 
happiness  from  our  ignorance.  .  .  .  Well,  what  are 
you  thinking  of  so  deeply  ?  '  ^ 

'  I  was  thinking  how  my  dear  friend  Knight  would 
enjoy  this  scene.     I  wish  he  could  come  here.' 

*You  seem  very  much  engrossed  with  him,'  she 
answered,  with  a  jealous  little  toss.  '  He  must  be  an 
interesting  man  to  take  up  so  much  of  your  attention.' 

'  Interesting ! '  said  Stephen,  his  face  glowing  with 
his  feiTOur ;  '  noble,  you  ought  to  say.' 

*0h  yes,  yes;  I  forgot,'  she  said  half  satirically. 
*The  noblest  man  in  England,  as  you  told  us  last 
night.' 

'  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  laugh  as  you  will,  Miss  Elfie.' 

*  I  know  he  is  your  hero.  But  what  does  he  do  ? 
anything  ? ' 

*  He  writes.' 

'  What  does  he  write  ?  I  have  never  heard  of  his 
name.' 

*  Because  his  personality,  and  that  of  several  others 
Uke  him,  is  absorbed  into  a  huge  WE,  namely,  the 
impalpable  entity  called  the  Present — a  social  and 
literary  Review.' 

*  Is  he  only  a  reviewer  ?  * 

'  On/yf  Elfie !  Why,  I  can  tell  you  it  is  a  fine  thing 
to  be  on  the  staff  of  the  Present.  Finer  than  being  a 
novelist  considerably.' 

*  That's  a  hit  at  me,  and  my  poor  Court  of  Kellyon 
Castle: 

'  No,  Elfride,'  he  whispered ;  *  I  didn't  mean  that. 
I  mean  that  he  is  really  a  literary  man  of  some  eminence, 
and  not  altogether  a  reviewer.  He  writes  things  of  a 
higher  class  than  reviews,  though  he  reviews  a  book 
occasionally.  His  ordinary  productions  are  social  and 
ethical  essays — all  that  the  Present  contains  which  is 
not  literary  reviewing.' 

'  I  admit  he  must  be  talented  if  he  writes  for  the 
71 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

Present.  We  have  it  sent  to  us  irregularly.  I  want 
papa  to  be  a  subscriber,  but  he's  so  conservative.  Now 
the  next  point  in  this  Mr.  Knight — I  suppose  he  is  a 
very  good  man.' 

*  An  excellent  man.  I  shall  try  to  be  his  intimate 
friend  some  day.' 

'  But  aren't  you  now?' 

'  No ;  not  so  much  as  that,'  replied  Stephen,  as  if 
such  a  supposition  were  extravagant.  *  You  see,  it  was 
in  this  way — he  came  originally  from  the  same  place  as 
I,  and  taught  me  things;  but  I  am  not  intimate  with 
him.  Shan't  I  be  glad  when  I  get  richer  and  better 
known,  and  hob  and  nob  with  him  !  '  Stephen's  eyes 
sparkled. 

A  pout  began  to  shape  itself  upon  Elfride's  soft  lips. 
'  You  think  always  of  him,  and  like  him  better  than  you 
do  me ! ' 

'No,  indeed,  Elfride.  The  feeling  is  different  quite. 
But  I  do  like  him,  and  he  deserves  even  more  affection 
from  me  than  I  give.' 

'  You  are  not  nice  now,  and  you  make  me  as  jealous 
as  possible  ! '  she  exclaimed  perversely.  *  I  know  you 
will  never  speak  to  any  third  person  of  me  so  warmly  as 
you  do  to  me  of  him.' 

'  But  you  don't  understand,  Elfride,'  he  said  with  an 
anxious  movement.  'You  shall  know  him  some  day. 
He  is  so  brilliant — no,  it  isn't  exactly  brilliant;  so 
thoughtful — nor  does  thoughtful  express  him — that  it 
would  charm  you  to  talk  to  him.  He's  a  most  desirable 
friend,  and  that  isn't  half  I  could  say.' 

'  I  don't  care  how  good  he  is ;  I  don't  want  to  know 
him,  because  he  comes  between  me  and  you.  You  think 
of  him  night  and  day,  ever  so  much  more  than  of  any- 
body else;  and  when  you  are  thinking  of  him,  I  am 
shut  out  of  your  mind.' 

'  No,  dear  Elfride ;  I  love  you  dearly.' 

'  And  I  don't  hke  you  to  tell  me  so  warmly  about 
72 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

him  when  you  are  in  the  middle  of  loving  me.  Stephen, 
suppose  that  I  and  this  man  Knight  of  yours  were  both 
drowning,  and  you  could  only  save  one  of  us ' 

*Yes — the  stupid  old  proposition — which  would  I 
save  ? ' 

'  Well,  which  ?     Not  me.* 

'  Both  of  you,'  he  said,  pressing  her  pendent  hand. 

'  No,  that  won't  do ;  only  one  of  us.' 

'  I  cannot  say ;  I  don't  know.  It  is  disagreeable — 
quite  a  horrid  idea  to  have  to  handle.' 

'  A-ha,  I  know.  You  would  save  him,  and  let  me 
drown,  drown,  drown ;  and  I  don't  care  about  your  love  ! ' 

She  had  endeavoured  to  give  a  playful  tone  to  her 
words,  but  the  latter  speech  was  rather  forced  in  its 
gaiety. 

At  this  point  in  the  discussion  she  trotted  off  to  turn 
a  corner  which  was  avoided  by  the  footpath,  the  road  and 
the  path  reuniting  at  a  point  a  little  further  on.  On 
again  making  her  appearance  she  continually  managed 
to  look  in  a  direction  away  from  him,  and  left  him  in 
the  cool  shade  of  her  displeasure.  Stephen  was  soon 
beaten  at  this  game  of  indifference.  He  went  round  and 
entered  the  range  of  her  vision. 

'  Are  you  offended,  Elfie  ?     Why  don't  you  talk  ?  ' 

'  Save  me,  then,  and  let  that  Mr.  Clever  of  yours 
drown.     I  hate  him.     Now,  which  would  you  ?  ' 

'Really,  Elfride,  you  should  not  press  such  a  hard 
question.     It  is  ridiculous.' 

'  Then  I  won't  be  alone  with  you  any  more.  Unkind, 
to  wound  me  so  ! '  She  laughed  at  her  own  absurdity, 
but  persisted. 

*  Come;  Elfie,  let's  make  it  up  and  be  friends.' 

'  Say  you  would  save  me,  then,  and  let  him  drown.' 

*  I  would  save  you — and  him  too.' 

'  And  let  him  drown.  Come,  or  you  don't  love  me ! ' 
she  teasingly  went  on. 

'  And  let  him  drown,'  he  ejaculated  despairingly. 

73 


J 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  There ;  now  I  am  yours  ! '  she  said,  and  a  woman's 
flush  of  triumph  ht  her  eyes. 

*  Only  one  earring,  miss,  as  I'm  alive,'  said  Unity  on 
their  entering  the  hall. 

With  a  face  expressive  of  wretched  misgiving,  Elfride's 
hand  flew  like  an  arrow  to  her  ear. 

'  There ! '  she  exclaimed  to  Stephen,  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  full  of  reproach. 

'  I  quite  forgot,  indeed.  If  I  had  only  remembered  ! ' 
he  answered,  with  a  conscience-stricken  face. 

She  wheeled  herself  round,  and  turned  into  the 
shrubbery.     Stephen  followed. 

*  If  you  had  told  me  to  watch  anything,  Stephen,  I 
should  have  religiously  done  it,'  she  capriciously  went 
on,  as  soon  as  she  heard  him  behind  her. 

*  Forgetting  is  forgivable.' 

*  Well,  you  will  find  it,  if  you  want  me  to  respect 
you  and  be  engaged  to  you  when  we  have  asked  papa.' 
She  considered  a  moment,  and  added  more  seriously, 
*  I  know  now  where  I  dropped  it,  Stephen.  It  was  on 
the  cliff.  I  remember  a  faint  sensation  of  some  change 
about  me,  but  I  was  too  absent  to  think  of  it  then. 
And  that's  where  it  is  now,  and  you  must  go  and  look 
there.' 

*  I'll  go  at  once.' 

And  he  strode  away  up  the  valley,  under  a  broiling 
sun  and  amid  the  deathlike  silence  of  early  afternoon. 
He  ascended,  with  giddy-paced  haste,  the  windy  range 
of  rocks  to  where  they  had  sat,  felt  and  peered  about 
the  stones  and  crannies,  but  Elfride's  stray  jewel  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  Next  Stephen  slowly  retraced  his 
steps,  and,  pausing  at  a  cross-road  to  reflect  a  while,  he 
left  the  plateau  and  struck  downwards  across  some 
fields,  in  the  direction  of  Endelstow  House. 

He  walked  along  the  path  by  the  river  without  the 
slightest  hesitation  as  to  its  bearing,  apparently  quite 

74 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

familiar  with  every  inch  of  the  ground.  As  the  shadows 
began  to  lengthen  and  the  sunlight  to  mellow,  he  passed 
through  two  wicket-gates,  and  drew  near  the  outskirts 
of  Endelstow  Park.  The  river  now  ran  along  under 
the  park  fence,  previous  to  entering  the  grove  itself,  a 
little  further  on. 

Here  stood  a  cottage,  between  the  fence  and  the 
stream,  on  a  slightly  elevated  spot  of  ground,  round 
which  the  river  took  a  turn.  The  characteristic  feature 
of  this  snug  habitation  was  its  one  chimney  in  the  gable 
end,  its  squareness  of  form  disguised  by  a  huge  cloak 
of  ivy,  which  had  grown  so  luxuriantly  and  extended  so 
far  from  its  base,  as  to  increase  the  apparent  bulk  of 
the  chimney  to  the  dimensions  of  a  tower.  Some  little 
distance  from  the  back  of  the  house  rose  the  park 
boundary,  and  over  this  were  to  be  seen  the  sycamores 
of  the  grove,  making  slow  incHnations  to  the  just- 
awakening  air. 

Stephen  crossed  the  little  wood  bridge  in  front,  went 
up  to  the  cottage  door,  and  opened  it  without  knock  or 
signal  of  any  kind. 

Exclamations  of  welcome  burst  from  some  person 
or  persons  when  the  door  was  thrust  ajar,  followed 
by  the  scrape  of  chairs  on  a  stone  floor,  as  if  pushed 
back  by  their  occupiers  in  rising  from  a  table.  The 
door  was  closed  again,  and  nothing  could  now  be 
heard  from  within,  save  a  lively  chatter  and  the  rattle 
of  plates. 


or  THE- 


VIII 

'  Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord.* 

1  HE  mists  were  creeping  out  of  pools  and  swamps 
for  their  pilgrimages  of  the  night  when  Stephen  came 
up  to  the  front  door  of  the  vicarage.  Elfride  was  stand- 
ing on  the  step  illuminated  by  a  lemon-hued  expanse 
of  western  sky. 

'  You  never  have  been  all  this  time  looking  for  that 
earring  ?  '  she  said  anxiously. 

*  Oh  no ;  and  I  have  not  found  it.' 

'  Never  mind.  Though  I  am  much  vexed ;  they 
are  my  prettiest.  But,  Stephen,  what  ever  have  you 
been  doing — where  have  you  been  ?  I  have  been  so 
uneasy.  I  feared  for  you,  knowing  not  an  inch  of 
the  country.  I  thought,  suppose  he  has  fallen  over 
the  cHff!  But  now  I  am  inclined  to  scold  you  for 
frightening  me  so.' 

'  I  must  speak  to  your  father  now,'  he  said  rather 
abruptly ;  *  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  him — and  to  you, 
Elfride.' 

'  Will  what  you  have  to  say  endanger  this  nice  time 
of  ours,  and  is  it  that  same  shadowy  secret  you  allude 
to  so  frequently,  and  will  it  make  me  unhappy  ? ' 

*  Possibly.' 

76 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

She  breathed  heavily,  and  looked  around  as  if  for  a 
prompter. 

'  Put  it  off  till  to-morrow,'  she  said. 

He  involuntarily  sighed  too. 

'  No ;  it  must  come  to-night.  Where  is  your  father, 
Elfride  ? ' 

<  Somewhere  in  the  kitchen  garden,  I  think,'  she 
replied.  '  That  is  his  favourite  evening  retreat.  I  will 
leave  you  now.  Say  all  that's  to  be  said — do  all  there 
is  to  be  done.  Think  of  me  waiting  anxiously  for  the 
end.'     And  she  re-entered  the  house. 

She  waited  in  the  drawing-room,  watching  the  lights 
sink  to  shadows,  the  shadows  sink  to  darkness,  until 
her  impatience  to  know  what  had  occurred  in  the  garden 
could  no  longer  be  controlled.  She  passed  round  the 
shrubbery,  unlatched  the  garden  door,  and  skimmed 
with  her  keen  eyes  the  whole  twilighted  space  that  the 
four  walls  enclosed  and  sheltered :  they  were  not  there. 
She  mounted  a  little  ladder,  which  had  been  used  for 
gathering  fruit,  and  looked  over  the  wall  into  the  field. 
This  field  extended  to  the  limits  of  the  glebe,  which 
was  enclosed  on  that  side  by  a  privet-hedge.  Under 
the  hedge  was  Mr.  Swancourt,  walking  up  and  down, 
and  talking  aloud — to  himself,  as  it  sounded  at  first. 
No :  another  voice  shouted  occasional  replies ;  and 
this  interlocutor  seemed  to  be  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hedge.  The  voice,  though  soft  in  quality,  was  not 
Stephen's. 

The  second  speaker  must  have  been  in  the  long- 
neglected  garden  of  an  old  manor-house  hard  by,  which, 
together  with  a  small  estate  attached,  had  lately  been 
purchased  by  a  person  named  Troyton,  whom  Elfride 
had  never  seen.  Her  father  might  have  struck  up  an 
acquaintanceship  with  some  member  of  that  family 
through,  the  privet-hedge,  or  a  stranger  to  the  neighbour- 
hood might  have  wandered  thither. 

Well,   there  was   no    necessity  for   disturbing  him. 
77 


\ 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

And  it  seemed  that,  after  all,  Stephen  had  not  yet 
made  his  desired  communication  to  her  father.  Again 
she  went  indoors,  wondering  where  Stephen  could  be. 
For  want  of  something  better  to  do,  she  went  upstairs 
to  her  own  little  room.  Here  she  sat  down  at  the  open 
window,  and,  leaning  with  her  elbow  on  the  table  and 
her  cheek  upon  her  hand,  she  fell  into  meditation. 

It  was  a  hot  and  still  August  night.  Every  disturb- 
ance of  the  silence  which  rose  to  the  dignity  of  a  noise 
could  be  heard  for  miles,  and  the  merest  sound  for  a 
long  distance.  So  she  remained,  thinking  of  Stephen, 
and  wishing  he  had  not  deprived  her  of  his  company 
to  no  purpose,  as  it  appeared.  How  delicate  and 
sensitive  he  was,  she  reflected ;  and  yet  he  was  man 
enough  to  have  a  private  mystery,  which  considerably 
elevated  him  in  her  eyes.  Thus,  looking  at  things  with 
an  inward  vision,  she  lost  consciousness  of  the  flight 
of  time. 

Strange  conjunctions  of  circumstances,  particularly 
those  of  a  trivial  everyday  kind,  are  so  frequent  in  an 
ordin^S^l^ife,  that  we  grow  used  to  their  unaccountable- 
ness,  and  forget  the  question  whether  the  very  long 
odds  against  such  juxtaposition  is  not  almost  a  disproof 
of  it  being  a  matter  of  chance  at  all.  What  occurred 
to  Elfride  at  this  moment  was  a  case  in  point.  She 
was  vividly  imagining,  for  the  twentieth  time,  the  kiss 
of  the  morning,  and  putting  her  lips  together  in  the 
position  another  such  a  one  would  demand,  when  she 
heard  the  identical  operation  performed  on  the  lawn, 
immediately  beneath  her  window. 

A  kiss — not  of  the  quiet  and  stealthy  kind,  but 
decisive,  loud,  and  smart. 

Her  face  flushed  and  she  looked  out,  but  to  no 
purpose.  The  dark  rim  of  the  upland  drew  a  keen 
sad  line  against  the  pale  glow  of  the  sky,  unbroken 
except  where  a  young  cedar  on  the  lawn,  that  had 
outgrown  its  fellow  trees,  shot  its  pointed  head  across 

78 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE    EYES 

the  horizon,  piercing  the  firmamental  lustre  like  a 
sting. 

It  was  just  possible  that,  had  any  persons  been 
standing  on  the  grassy  portions  of  the  lawn,  Elfride 
might  have  seen  their  dusky  forms.  But  the  shrubs, 
which  once  had  merely  dotted  the  glade,  had  now 
grown  bushy  and  large,  till  they  hid  at  least  half  the 
enclosure  containing  them.  The  kissing  pair  might 
have  been  behind  some  of  these;  at  any  rate,  nobody 
was  in  sight. 

Had  no  enigma  ever  been  connected  with  her  lover 
by  his  hints  and  absences,  Elfride  would  never  have 
thought  of  admitting  into  her  mind  a  suspicion  that  he 
might  be  concerned  in  the  foregoing  enactment.  But 
the  reservations  he  at  present  insisted  on,  while  they 
added  to  the  mystery  without  which  perhaps  she  would 
never  have  seriously  loved  him  at  all,  were  calculated 
to  nourish  doubts  of  all  kinds,  and  with  a  slow  flush 
of  jealousy  she  asked  herself,  might  he  not  be  the 
culprit  ? 

Elfride  glided  downstairs  on  tiptoe,  and  out  to  the 
precise  spot  on  which  she  had  parted  from  Stephen 
to  enable  him  to  speak  privately  to  her  father.  Thence 
she  wandered  into  all  the  nooks  around  the  place  from 
which  the  sound  seemed  to  proceed — among  the  huge 
laurestines,  about  the  tufts  of  pampas  grasses,  amid 
the  variegated  hollies,  under  the  weeping  wych-elm — 
nobody  was  there.  Returning  indoors  she  called 
'  Unity  ! ,' 

*  She  is  gone  to  her  aunt's,  to  spend  the  evening,' 
said  Mr.  Swancourt,  thrusting  his  head  out  of  his  study 
door,  and  letting  the  light  of  his  candles  stream  upon 
Elfride's  face — less  revealing  than,  as  it  seemed  to 
herself,  creating  the  blush  of  uneasy  perplexity  that  was 
burning  upon  her  cheek. 

*  I  didn't  know  you  were  indoors,  papa,'  she  said 
with  surprise.     <  Surely  no  light  was  shining  from  the 

79 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

window  when  I  was  on  the  lawn  ?  '  and  she  looked  and 
saw  that  the  shutters  were  still  open. 

*  Oh  yes,  I  am  in,'  he  said  indifferently.  *  What  did 
you  want  Unity  for?  I  think  she  laid  supper  before 
she  went  out.' 

'  Did  she  ? — I  have  not  been  to  see — I  didn't  want 
her  for  that.' 

Elfride  scarcely  knew,  now  that  a  definite  reason 
was  required,  what  that  reason  was.  Her  mind  for  a 
moment  strayed  to  another  subject,  unimportant  as  it 
seemed.  The  red  ember  of  a  match  was  lying  inside 
the  fender,  which  explained  that  why  she  had  seen  no 
rays  from  the  window  was  because  the  candles  had  only 
just  been  lighted. 

'  I'll  come  directly,'  said  the  vicar.  '  I  thought  you 
were  out  somewhere  with  Mr.  Smith.' 

Even  the  inexperienced  Elfride  could  not  help  think- 
ing that  her  father  must  be  wonderfully  blind  if  he  failed 
to  perceive  what  was  the  nascent  consequence  of  herself 
and  Stephen  being  so  unceremoniously  left  together; 
wonderfully  careless,  if  he  saw  it  and  did  not  think 
about  it ;  wonderfully  good,  if,  as  seemed  to  her  by  far 
the  most  probable  supposition,  he  saw  it  and  thought 
about  it  and  approved  of  it.  These  reflections  were 
cut  short  by  the  appearance  of  Stephen  just  outside 
the  porch,  silvered  about  the  head  and  shoulders  with 
touches  of  moonlight,  that  had  begun  to  creep  through 
the  trees. 

'  Has  your  trouble  anything  to  do  with  a  kiss  on  the 
lawn  ?  '  she  asked  abruptly,  almost  passionately. 

'  Kiss  on  the  lawn  ?  ' 

*  Yes  ! '  she  said,  imperiously  now. 

'  I  didn't  comprehend  your  meaning,  nor  do  I  now 
exactly.     I  certainly  have  kissed  nobody  on  the  lawn, 
if  that  is  really  what  you  want  to  know,  Elfride.' 
'  You  know  nothing  about  such  a  performance  ?  ' 
'  Nothing  whatever.     What  makes  you  ask  ?  ' 
80 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Don't  press  me  to  tell ;  it  is  nothing  of  importance. 
And,  Stephen,  you  have  not  yet  spoken  to  papa  about 
our  engagement  ? ' 

'  No,'  he  said  regretfully,  '  I  could  not  find  him 
directly ;  and  then  I  went  on  thinking  so  much  of 
what  you  said  about  objections,  refusals — bitter  words 
possibly — ending  our  happiness,  that  I  resolved  to  put 
it  off  till  to-morrow  j  that  gives  us  one  more  day  of 
delight — delight  of  a  tremulous  kind.' 

'  Yes ;  but  it  would  be  improper  to  be  silent  too 
long,  I  think,'  she  said  in  a  delicate  voice,  which  im- 
plied that  her  face  had  grown  warm.  *  I  want  him  to 
know  we  love,  Stephen.  Why  did  you  adopt  as  your 
own  my  thought  of  delay  ?  ' 

'  I  will  explain  ;  but  I  want  to  tell  you  of  my  secret 
first — to  tell  you  now.  It  is  two  or  three  hours  yet  to 
bedtime.     Let  us  walk  up  the  hill  to  the  church.' 

Elfride  passively  assented,  and  they  went  from  the 
lawn  by  a  side  wicket,  and  ascended  into  the  open 
expanse  of  moonlight  which  streamed  around  the  lonely 
edifice  on  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

The  door  was  locked.  They  turned  from  the  porch, 
and  walked  hand  in  hand  to  find  a  resting-place  in  the 
churchyard.  Stephen  chose  a  flat  tomb,  showing  itself 
to  be  newer  and  whiter  than  those  around  it,  and  sitting 
down  himself,  gently  drew  her  hand  towards  him. 

'  No,  not  there,'  she  said. 

*  Why  not  here  ?  ' 

*A  mere  fancy;  but  never  mind.'  And  she  sat 
down. 

'  Elfie,  will  you  love  me,  in  spite  of  everything  that 
may  be  said  against  me  ?  ' 

'O  Stephen,  what  makes  you  repeat  that  so  con- 
tinually and  so  sadly  ?  You  know  I  will.  Yes,  indeed,' 
she  said,  drawing  closer,  '  whatever  may  be  said  of  you 
— and  nothing  bad  can  be — I  will  cling  to  you  just  the 
same.     Your  ways  shall  be  my  ways  until  I  die.' 

8i  F 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

*  Did  you  ever  think  what  my  parents  might  be,  or 
what  society  I  originally  moved  in  ?  ' 

*  No,  not  particularly.  I  have  observed  one  or  two 
little  points  in  your  manners  which  are  rather  quaint — 
no  more.  I  suppose  you  have  moved  in  the  ordinary 
society  of  professional  people.' 

*  Supposing  I  have  not  — that  none  of  my  family 
have*  a  profession  except  me  ?  ' 

*  I  don't  mind.     What  you  are  only  concerns  me.' 

*  Where  do  you  think  I  went  to  school — I  mean,  to 
what  kind  of  school  ?  ' 

*  Dr.  Somebody's  academy,'  she  said  simply. 

'  No.  To  a  dame  school  originally,  then  to  a  national 
school.' 

*  Only  to  those !  Well,  I  love  you  just  as  much, 
Stephen,  dear  Stephen,'  she  murmured  tenderly,  '  I  do 
indeed.  And  why  should  you  tell  me  these  things  so 
impressively  ?     What  do  they  matter  to  me  ?  ' 

He  held  her  closer  and  proceeded : 

*  What  do  you  think  my  father  is — does  for  his  living, 
that  is  to  say  ? ' 

*  He  practises  some  profession  or  calling,  I  suppose.' 
'  No ;  he  is  a  mason.' 

*  A  Freemason  ? ' 

'  No ;  a  cottager  and  journeyman  mason.' 

Elfride   said  nothing  at    first.      After  a  while   she 

whispered : 

'  That  is  a  strange  idea  to  me.     But  never  mind ; 

what  does  it  matter  ?  ' 

*  But  aren't  you  angry  with  me  for  not  telling  you 
before  ? ' 

*  No,  not  at  all.     Is  your  mother  alive  ?  ' 

*  Yes.' 

*  Is  she  a  nice  lady  ?  ' 

'  Very — the  best  mother  in  the  world.  Her  people 
had  been  well-to-do  yeomen  for  centuries,  but  she  was 
only  a  dairymaid.' 

82 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  O  Stephen  ! '  came  from  her  in  whispered  excla- 
mation. 

'  She  continued  to  attend  to  a  dairy  long  after  my 
father  married  her,'  pursued  Stephen,  without  further 
hesitation.  '  And  I  remember  very  well  how,  when  I 
was  very  young,  I  used  to  go  to  the  milking,  look  on  at 
the  skimming,  sleep  through  the  churning,  and  make 
believe  I  helped  her.  Ah,  that  was  a  happy  time 
enough ! ' 

'  No,  never — not  happy.' 

*  Yes,  it  was.' 

*  I  don't  see  how  happiness  could  be  where  the 
drudgery  of  dairy-work  had  to  be  done  for  a  living — 
the  hands  red  and  chapped,  and  the  shoes  clogged.  .  .  . 
Stephen,  I  do  own  that  it  seems  odd  to  regard  you  in 
the  light  of — of — having  been  so  rough  in  your  youth, 
and  done  menial  things  of  that  kind.'  (Stephen  with- 
drew an  inch  or  two  from  her  side.)  '  But  I  do  love  you 
just  the  same,'  she  continued,  getting  closer  under  his 
shoulder  again,  '  and  I  don't  care  anything  about  the 
past ;  and  I  see  that  you  are  all  the  worthier  for  having 
pushed  on  in  the  world  in  such  a  way.' 

'  It  is  not  my  worthiness  ;  it  is  Knight's,  who  pushed 
me.' 

'  Ah,  always  he — always  he  ! ' 

'  Yes,  and  properly  so.  Now,  Elfride,  you  see  the 
reason  of  his  teaching  me  by  letter.  I  knew  him  years 
before  he  went  to  Oxford,  but  I  had  not  got  far  enough 
in  my  reading  for  him  to  entertain  the  idea  of  helping 
me  in  classics  till  he  left  home.  Then  I  was  sent  away 
from  the  village,  and  we  very  seldom  met ;  but  he  kept 
up  this  system  of  tuition  by  correspondence  with  the 
greatest  regularity.  I  will  tell  you  all  the  story,  but  not 
now.  There  is  nothing  more  to  say  now,  beyond  giving 
places,  persons,  and  dates.'  His  voice  became  timidly 
slow  at  this  point. 

'No;  don't  take  trouble  to  say  more.  You  are 
83 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

a  dear  honest  fellow  to  say  so  much  as  you  have ; 
and  it  is  not  so  dreadful  either.  It  has  become  a 
normal  thing  that  millionaires  commence  by  going  up 
to  London  with  their  tools  at  their  back,  and  half-a- 
crown  in  their  pockets.  That  sort  of  origin  is  getting 
so  respected,'  she  continued  cheerfully,  *  that  it  is 
acquiring  some  of  the  odour  of  Norman  ancestry.' 

*  Ah,  if  I  had  made  my  fortune,  I  shouldn't  mind. 
But  I  am  only  a  possible  maker  of  it  as  yet.* 

*  It  is  quite  enough.  And  so  this  is  what  your 
trouble  was  ? ' 

'  I  thought  I  was  doing  wrong  in  letting  you  love 
me  without  telling  you  my  story;  and  yet  I  feared  to 
do  so,  Elfie.  I  dreaded  to  lose  you,  and  I  was 
cowardly  on  that  account.' 

*  How  plain  everything  about  you  seems  after  this 
explanation  !  Your  peculiarities  in  chess-playing,  the 
pronunciation  papa  noticed  in  your  Latin,  your  odd 
mixture  of  book-knowledge  with  ignorance  of  ordinary 
social  accomplishments,  are  accounted  for  in  a  moment. 
And  has  this  anything  to  do  with  what  I  saw  at  Lord 
Luxellian's  ?  ' 

'  What  did  you  see  ? ' 

*  I  saw  the  shadow  of  yourself  putting  a  cloak  round 
a  lady.  I  was  at  the  side  door;  you  two  were  in  a 
room  with  the  window  towards  me.  You  came  to  me 
a  moment  later.' 

'  She  was  my  mother.' 

*Your  mother  there  1^  She  withdrew  herself  to 
look  at  him  silently  in  her  interest. 

'  Elfride,'  said  Stephen,  '  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
the  remainder  to-morrow — I  have  been  keeping  it  back 
— I  must  tell  it  now,  after  all.  The  remainder  of  my 
revelation  refers  to  where  my  parents  are.  Where  do 
you  think  they  live?  You  know  them — by  sight  at 
any  rate.' 

'  /  know  them  ! '  she  said  in  suspended  amazement. 
84 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Yes.  My  father  is  John  Smith,  Lord  Luxellian's 
master-mason,  who  lives  under  the  park  wall  by  the 
river.* 

*  O  Stephen  !  can  it  be  ? ' 

*  He  built — or  assisted  at  the  building  of  the  house 
you  live  in,  years  ago.  He  put  up  those  stone  gate 
piers  at  the  lodge  entrance  to  Lord  Luxellian's  park. 
My  grandfather  planted  the  trees  that  belt  in  your 
lawn ;  my  grandmother — who  worked  in  the  fields  with 
him — held  each  tree  upright  whilst  he  filled  in  the  earth  : 
they  told  me  so  when  I  was  a  child.  He  was  the 
sexton,  too,  and  dug  many  of  the  graves  around  us.* 

*  And  was  your  unaccountable  vanishing  on  the  first 
morning  of  your  arrival,  and  again  this  afternoon,  a 
run  to  see  your  father  and  mother  ?  .  .  .  I  understand 
now ;  no  wonder  you  seemed  to  know  your  way  about 
the  village !  * 

'  No  wonder.  But  remember,  I  have  not  lived  here 
smce  I  was  nine  years  old.  I  then  went  to  five  with 
my  uncle,  a  blacksmith,  near  Exonbury,  in  order  to 
be  able  to  attend  a  national  school  as  a  day  scholar; 
there  was  none  on  this  remote  coast  then.  It  was 
there  I  met  with  my  friend  Knight.  And  when  I 
was  fifteen  and  had  been  fairly  educated  by  the  school- 
master— and  more  particularly  by  Knight — I  was  put 
as  a  pupil  in  an  architect's  office  in  that  town,  because 
I  was  skilful  in  the  use  of  the  pencil.  A  full  premium 
was  paid  by  the  efforts  of  my  mother  and  father,  rather 
against  the  wishes  of  Lord  Luxellian,  who  likes  my 
father,  however,  and  thinks  a  great  deal  of  him.  There 
I  stayed  till  six  months  ago,  when  I  obtained  a  situa- 
tion as  improver,  as  it  is  called,  in  a  London  office. 
That's  all  of  me.* 

'  To  think  you,  the  London  visitor,  the  town  man, 
should  have  been  born  here,  and  have  known  this 
village  so  many  years  before  I  did.  How  strange- 
how  very  strange  it  seems  to  me  ! '  she  murmured. 

8s 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

'  My  mother  curtseyed  to  you  and  your  father  last 
Sunday/  said  Stephen,  with  a  pained  smile  at  the 
thought  of  the  incongruity.  'And  your  papa  said  to 
her,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  regular  at  church, 
/aney' 

'  I  remember  it,  but  I  have  never  spoken  to  her. 
We  have  only  been  here  eighteen  months,  and  the 
parish  is  so  large.' 

'  Contrast  with  this,'  said  Stephen,  with  a  miserable 
laugh,  *  your  father's  belief  in  my  "  blue  blood,"  which 
is  still  prevalent  in  his  mind.  The  first  night  I  came, 
he  insisted  upon  proving  my  descent  from  one  of  the 
most  ancient  west-county  families,  on  account  of  my 
second  Christian  name ;  when  the  truth  is,  it  was  given 
me  because  my  grandfather  was  assistant  gardener  in  the 
Fitzmaurice-Smith  family  for  thirty  years.  Having  seen 
your  face,  my  darling,  I  had  not  heart  to  contradict  him, 
and  tell  him  what  would  have  cut  me  off  from  a  friendly 
knowledge  of  you.' 

She  sighed  deeply.  '  Yes,  I  see  now  how  this  in- 
equality may  be  made  to  trouble  us,'  she  murmured, 
and  continued  in  a  low,  sad  whisper,  *  I  wouldn't  have 
minded  if  they  had  Hved  far  away.  Papa  might  have 
consented  to  an  engagement  between  us  if  your  con- 
nection had  been  with  villagers  a  hundred  miles  off; 
remoteness  softens  family  contrasts.  But  he  will  not 
like — O  Stephen,  Stephen  !  what  can  I  do  ?  ' 

'  Do  ?  '  he  said  tentatively,  yet  with  heaviness.  '  Give 
me  up ;  let  me  go  back  to  Lond  on,  and  think  no  more 
of  me.' 

'  No,  no ;  I  cannot  give  you  up !  This  hop  elessness 
in  our  affairs  makes  me  care  more  for  you.  ...  I  see 
what  did  not  strike  me  at  first.  Stephen,  why  do  we 
trouble?  Why  should  papa  object?  An  architect  in 
London  is  an  architect  in  London.  Who  inquires 
there  ?  Nobody.  We  shall  live  there,  shall  we  not  ? 
Why  need  we  be  so  alarmed  ? ' 

86 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  And  Elfie,'  said  Stephen,  his  hopes  kindhng  with 
hers, '  Knight  thinks  nothing  of  my  being  only  a  cottager's 
son ;  he  says  I  am  as  worthy  of  his  friendship  as  if  I 
were  a  lord's ;  and  if  I  am  worthy  of  his  friendship,  I 
am  worthy  of  you,  am  I  not,  Elfride  ? ' 

*  I  not  only  have  never  loved  anybody  but  you,'  she 
said,  instead  of  giving  an  answer,  '  but  I  have  not  even 
formed  a  strong  friendship,  such  as  you  have  for  Knight. 
I  wish  you  hadn't.     It  diminishes  me.' 

'  Now,  Elfride,  you  know  better,'  he  said  wooingly. 
'  And  had  you  really  never  any  sweetheart  at  all  ? ' 
'  None  that  was  ever  recognized  by  me  as  such.' 
'But  did  nobody  ever  love  you  ?  '        y, . 
'  Yes — a  man  did  once ;  very  much,  «  said.' 
'  How  long  ago  ?  ' 
'  Oh,  a  long  time.' 
'  How  long,  dearest  ? 

*  A  twelvemonth.' 

'  That's  not  very  long '  (rather  disappointedly). 
'  I  said  long,  not  very  long.' 
'  And  did  he  want  to  marry  you  ?  ' 
'  I  beheve  he  did.     But  I  didn't  see  anything  in  him. 
He  was  not  good  enough,  even  if  I  had  loved  him.' 
'  May  I  ask  what  he  was  ?  ' 

*  A  farmer.' 

*  A  farmer  not  good  enough — how  much  better  than 
my  family!  '  Stephen  murmured. 

'  Where  is  he  now  ? '  he  continued  to  Elfride. 

*  Here: 

*  Here  !  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ' 
'  I  mean  that  he  is  here.' 

<  Where  here  ? ' 

'  Under  us.  He  is  under  this  tomb.  He  is  dead, 
and  we  are  sitting  on  his  grave.' 

*  Elfie,'  said  the  young  man,  standing  up  and  looking 
at  the  tomb,  '  how  odd  and  sad  that  revelation  seems  ! 
It  quite  depresses  me  for  the  moment.' 

87 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Stephen,  I  didn't  wish  to  sit  here ;  but  you  would 
do  so.' 

'  You  never  encouraged  him  ?  ' 

'  Never  by  look,  word,  or  sign,'  she  said  solemnly. 
'  He  died  of  consumption,  and  was  buried  the  day  you 
first  came.' 

'  Let  us  go  away.  I  don't  like  standing  by  him^  even 
if  you  never  loved  him.     He  was  before  me.' 

*  Worries  make  you  unreasonable,'  she  half  pouted, 
following  Stephen  at  the  distance  of  a  few  steps.  '  Per- 
haps I  ought  to  have  told  you  before  we  sat  down.  Yes ; 
let  us  go.' 


IX 

'  Her  father  did  fume.'         -^ 

Oppressed,  in  spite  of  themselves,  by  a  foresight 
of  impending  complications,  Elfride  and  Stephen  re- 
turned down  the  hill  hand  in  hand.  At  the  door  they 
paused  wistfully,  Hke  children  late  at  school. 

Women  accept  their  destiny  more  readily  than  men. 
Elfride  had  now  resigned  herself  to  the  overwhelming 
idea  of  her  lover's  sorry  antecedents ;  Stephen  had  not 
forgotten  the  trifling  grievance  that  Elfride  had  known 
earlier  admiration  than  his  own. 

'  AVhat  was  that  young  man's  nan^e  ?  '  he  inquired. 
..    '  Felix  Jethway ;  a  widow's  only  son.' 

'  I  remember  the  family.' 

'  She  hates  me  now.     She  says  I  killed  him.' 

Stephen  mused,  and  they  entered  the  porch. 

*  Stephen,  I  love  only  you,'  she  tremulously  whispered. 

He  pressed  her  fingers,  and  the  trifling  shadow 
passed  away,  to  admit  again  the  mutual  and  more 
tangible  trouble. 

The  study  appeared  to  be  the  only  room  lighted 
up.  They  entered,  each  with  a  demeanour  intended  to 
conceal  the  inconcealable  fact  that  reciprocal  love  was 
their  dominant  chord.     Elfride  perceived  a  man,  sitting 

o  89 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

with  his  back  towards  herself,  talking  to  her  father. 
She  would  have  retired,  but  Mr.  Swancourt  had  seen 
her. 

'  Come  in,'  he  said ;  *  it  is  only  Martin  Cannister, 
come  for  a  copy  of  the  register  for  poor  Mrs.  Jethway.' 

Martin  Cannister,  the  sexton,  was  rather  a  favourite 
with  Elfride.  He  used  to  absorb  her  attention  by 
teUing  her  of  his  strange  experiences  in  digging  up 
after  long  years  the  bodies  of  persons  he  had  known, 
and  recogniziug  them  by  some  little  sign  (though  in 
reality  he  had  never  recognized  any).  He  had  shrewd 
small  eyes  and  a  great  wealth  of  double  chin,  which 
compensated  in  some  measure  for  considerable  poverty 
of  nose. 

The  appearance  of  a  slip  of  paper  in  Cannister's 
hand,  and  a  few  shillings  lying  on  the  table  in  front 
of  him,  denoted  that  the  business  had  been  transacted, 
and  the  tenor  of  their  conversation  went  to  show  that 
a  summary  of  village  news  was  now  engaging  the  atten- 
tion of  parishioner  and  parson. 

Mr.  Cannister  stood  up  and  touched  his  forehead 
over  his  eye  with  his  finger,  in  respectful  salutation  of 
Elfride,  gave  half  as  much  salute  to  Stephen  (whom  he, 
in  common  with  other  villagers,  had  never  for  a  moment 
recognized),  then  sat  down  again  and  resumed  his 
discourse. 

'  Where  had  I  got  on  to,  sir  ?  ' 

*  To  driving  the  pile,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

'  The  pile  'twas.  So,  as  I  was  saying,  Nat  was 
driving  the  pile  in  this  manner,  as  I  might  say.'  Here 
Mr.  Cannister  held  his  walking-stick  scrupulously  verti- 
cal with  his  left  hand,  and  struck  a  blow  with  great 
force  on  the  knob  of  the  stick  with  his  right.  '  John 
was  steadying  the  pile  so,  as  I  might  say.'  Here  he 
gave  the  stick  a  slight  shake,  and  looked  firmly  in  the 
various  eyes  around  to  see  that  before  proceeding 
further  his   listeners  well  grasped  the   subject  at  that 

90 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE    EYES 

Stage.  '  Well,  when  Nat  had  struck  some  half-dozen 
blows  more  upon  the  pile,  'a  stopped  for  a  second  or 
two.  John,  thinking  he  had  done  striking,  put  his 
hand  upon  the  top  o'  the  pile  to  gie  en  a  pull,  and  see  if 
'a  were  firm  in  the  ground.'  Mr.  Cannister  spread  his 
hand  over  the  top  of  the  stick,  completely  covering  it 
with  his  palm.  '  Well,  so  to  speak,  Nat  hadn't  maned 
to  stop  striking,  and  when  John  had  put  his  hand  upon 
the  pile,  the  beetle ' 

'  Oh  dreadful ! '  said  Elfride. 

'  The  beetle  was  already  coming  down,  you  see,  sir. 
Nat  just  caught  sight  of  his  hand,  but  couldn't  stop 
the  blow  in  time.  Down  came  the  beetle  upon  poor 
John  Smith's  hand,  and  squashed  en  to  a  pummy.' 

'  Dear  me,  dear  me !  poor  fellow  ! '  said  the  vicar, 
with  an  intonation  like  the  groans  of  the  wounded  in  a 
pianoforte  performance  of  the  '  Battle  of  Prague.' 

'  John  Smith,  the  master  -  mason  ?  '  cried  Stephen 
hurriedly. 

'  Ay,  no  other ;  and  a  better-hearted  man  God 
A'mighty  never  made.' 

'  Is  he  so  much  hurt  ? ' 

'  I  have  heard,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt,  not  noticing 
Stephen,  '  that  he  has  a  son  in  London,  a  very  pro- 
mising young  fellow.' 

'  Oh,  how  he  must  be  hurt ! '  repeated  Stephen. 

'  A  beetle  couldn't  hurt  very  little.  Well,  sir,  good- 
night t'ye ;  and  ye,  sir ;  and  you,  miss,  I'm  sure.' 

Mr.  Cannister  had  been  making  unnoticeable  motions 
of  withdrawal,  and  by  the  time  this  farewell  remark  came 
from  his  lips  he  was  just  outside  the  door  of  the  room. 
He  tramped  along  the  hall,  stayed  more  than  a  minutb 
endeavouring  to  close  the  door  properly,  and  then  was 
lost  to  their  hearing. 

Stephen  had  meanwhile  turned  and  said  to  the  vicar  : 

^  Please  excuse  me  this  evening !  I  must  leave. 
John  Smith  is  my  father.' 

91 


K 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

The  vicar  did  not  comprehend  at  first. 

*  What  did  you  say  ?  '  he  inquired. 

'  John  Smith  is  my  father,'  said  Stephen  deliberately. 

A  surplus  tinge  of  redness  rose  from  Mr.  Swancourt's 
neck,  and  came  round  over  his  face,  the  hnes  of  his 
features  became  more  firmly  defined,  and  his  lips  seemed 
to  get  thinner.  It  was  evident  that  a  series  of  little 
circumstances,  hitherto  unheeded,  were  now  fitting 
themselves  together,  and  forming  a  lucid  picture  in 
Mr.  Swancourt's  mind  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render 
useless  further  explanation  on  Stephen's  part. 

'  Indeed,'  the  vicar  said,  in  a  voice  dry  and  without 
inflection. 

This  being  a  word  which  depends  entirely  upon  its 
tone  for  its  meaning,  Mr.  Swancourt's  enunciation  was 
equivalent  to  no  expression  at  all. 

'  I  have  to  go  now,'  said  Stephen,  with  an  agitated 
bearing,  and  a  movement  as  if  he  scarcely  knew  whether 
he  ought  to  run  off  or  stay  longer.  '  On  my  return, 
sir,  will  you  kindly  grant  me  a  few  minutes'  private 
conversation  ? ' 

*  Certainly.  Though  antecedently  it  does  not  seem 
possible  that  there  can  be  anything  of  the  nature  of 
private  business  between  us.' 

Mr.  Swancourt  put  on  his  straw  hat,  crossed  the 
drawing-room,  into  which  the  moonlight  was  shining, 
and  stepped  out  of  the  French  window  into  the 
verandah.  It  required  no  further  effort  to  perceive 
what,  indeed,  reasoning  might  have  foretold  as  the 
natural  colour  of  a  mind  whose  pleasures  were  taken 
amid  genealogies,  good  dinners,  and  patrician  reminis- 
cences, that  Mr.  Swancourt's  prejudices  were  too  strong 
for  his  generosity,  and  that  Stephen's  moments  as  his 
friend  and  equal  were  numbered,  or  had  even  now 
ceased. 

Stephen  moved  forward  as  if  he  would  follow  the 
vicar,  then  as  if  he  would  not,  and  in  absolute  per- 

92 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

plexity  whither  to  turn  himself,  went  awkwardly  to  the 
door.  Elfride  followed  lingeringly  behind  him.  Before 
he  had  receded  two  yards  from  the  doorstep,  Unity  and 
Ann  the  housemaid  came  home  from  their  visit  to  the 
village. 

'  Have  you  heard  anything  about  John  Smith  ?  The 
accident  is  not  so  bad  as  was  reported,  is  it  ? '  said 
Elfride  intuitively. 

'  Oh  no ;  the  doctor  says  it  is  only  a  bad  bruise.' 

'  I  thought  so  ! '  cried  Elfride  gladly. 

'  He  says  that,  although  Nat  believes  he  did  not 
check  the  beetle  as  it  came  down,  he  must  have  done 
so  without  knowing  it — checked  it  very  considerably 
too ;  for  the  full  blow  would  have  knocked  his  hand 
abroad,  and  in  reality  it  is  only  made  black-and- 
blue  like.' 

*  How  thankful  I  am  ! '  said  Stephen. 

The  perplexed  Unity  looked  at  him  with  her  mouth 
rather  than  with  her  eyes. 

*  That  will  do,  Unity,'  said  Elfride  magisterially ;  and 
the  two  maids  passed  on. 

'  Elfride,  do  you  forgive  me  ?  '  said  Stephen  with  a 
faint  smile.  '  No  man  is  fair  in  love ; '  and  he  took  her 
fingers  lightly  in  his  own. 

With  her  head  thrown  sideways  in  the  Greuze 
attitude,  she  looked  a  tender  reproach  at  his  doubt 
and  pressed  his  hand.  Stephen  returned  the  pressure 
threefold,  then  hastily  went  off  to  his  father's  cottage 
by  the  wall  of  Endelstow  Park. 

*  Elfride,  what  have  you  to  say  to  this  ? '  inquired 
her  father,  coming  up  immediately  Stephen  had  retired. 

With  feminine  quickness  she  grasped  at  any  straw 
that  would  enable  her  to  plead  his  cause.  '  He  had  told 
me  of  it,'  she  faltered ;  •  so  that  it  is  not  a  discovery  in 
spite  of  him.     He  was  just  coming  in  to  tell  you.' 

'  Coming  to  tell !  Why  hadn't  he  already  told  ?  I 
object  as  much,  if  not  more,  to  his  underhand  conceal- 

93 


A    PAIR    OF   BLUE   EYES 

ment  of  this,  than  I  do  to  the  fact  itself.  It  looks  very 
much  like  his  making  a  fool  of  me,  and  of  you  too.  You 
and  he  have  been  about  together,  and  corresponding 
together,  in  a  way  I  don't  at  all  approve  of — in  a  most 
unseemly  way.  You  should  have  known  how  improper 
such  conduct  is.  A  woman  can't  be  too  careful  not  to 
be  seen  alone  with  I-don't-know-whom.' 

'  You  saw  us,  papa,  and  have  never  said  a  word.' 

'  My  fault,  of  course ;  my  fault.  What  the  deuce 
could  I  be  thinking  of !  He,  a  villager's  son ;  and  we, 
Swancourts,  connections  of  the  Luxellians.  We  have 
been  coming  to  nothing. for  centuries,  and  now  I  believe 
we  have  got  there.  What  shall  I  next  invite  here,  I 
wonder ! ' 

Elfride  began  to  cry  at  this  very  unpropitious  aspect 
of  affairs.  '  O  papa,  papa,  forgive  me  and  him !  We 
care  so  much  for  one  another,  papa — O,  so  much ! 
And  what  he  was  going  to  ask  you  is,  if  you  will  allow 
of  an  engagement  between  us  till  he  is  a  gentleman  as 
good  as  you.  We  are  not  in  a  hurry,  dear  papa;  we 
don't  want  in  the  least  to  marry  now;  not  until  he  is 
richer.  Only  will  you  let  us  be  engaged,  because  I  love 
him  so,  and  he  loves  me  ? ' 

Mr.  Swancourt's  feelings  were  a  little  touched  by 
this  appeal,  and  he  was  annoyed  that  such  should  be 
the  case.  *  Certainly  not ! '  he  r;€plied.  He  pronounced 
the  inhibition  lengthily  and  sonorously,  so  that  the  '  not ' 
sounded  like  '  n-o-o-o-t ! ' 

'  No,  no,  no ;  don't  say  it ! ' 

'  Foh !  A  fine  story.  It  is  not  enough  that  I  have 
been  deluded  and  disgraced  by  having  him  here, — the 
son  of  one  of  my  village  peasants, — but  now  I  am  to 
make  him  my  son-in-law!  Heavens  above  us,  are  you 
mad,  Elfride  ? ' 

'  You  have  seen  his  letters  come  to  me  ever  since  his 
first  visit,  papa,  and  you  knew  they  were  a  sort  of — love- 
letters  ;  and  since  he  has  been  here  you  have  let  him  be 
94 


'.^^mim ' 


t 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

alone  with  me  almost  entirely;  and  you  guessed,  you 
must  have  guessed,  what  we  were  thinking  of,  and  doing, 
and  you  didn't  stop  him.  Next  to  love-making  comes 
love-winning,  and  you  knew  it  would  come  to  that,  papa.' 

The  vicar  parried  this  common-sense  thrust.  '  I  know 
— since  you  press  me  so — I  know  I  did  guess  some 
childish  attachment  might  arise  between  you ;  I  own  I 
did  not  take  much  trouble  to  prevent  it ;  but  I  have  not 
particularly  countenanced  it ;  and,  Elfride,  how  can  you 
expect  that  I  should  now  ?  It  is  impossible ;  no  father 
in  England  would  hear  of  such  a  thing.' 

'  But  he  is  the  same  man,  papa ;  the  same  in  every 
particular ;  and  how  can  he  be  less  fit  for  me  than  he 
was  before?' 

'  He  appeared  a  young  man  with  well-to-do  friends,  and 
a  little  property ;  but  having  neither,  he  is  another  man.' 

*  You  inquired  nothing  about  him  ?  ' 

'  I  went  by  Hewby's  introduction.  He  should  have 
told  rne.  So  should  the  young  man  himself;  of  course 
he  should.  I  consider  it  a  most  dishonourable  thing  to 
come  into  a  man's  house  like  a  treacherous  I-don't-know- 
what.' 

*  But  he  was  afraid  to  tell  you,  and  so  should  I  have 
been.  He  loved  me  too  well  to  like  to  run  the  risk. 
And  as  to  speaking  of  his  friends  on  his  first  visit,  I 
don't  see  why  he  should  have  done  so  at  all.  He  came 
here  on  business :  it  was  no  affair  of  ours  who  his 
parents  were.  And  then  he  knew  that  if  he^^old  you  he 
would  never  be  asked  here,  and  would'  perhaps  never  see 
me  again.  And  he  wanted  to  see  me.  Who  can  blame 
him  for  trying,  by  any  means,  to  stay  near  me — the  girl 
he  loves  ?  All  is  fair  in  love.  I  have  heard  you  say  so 
yourself,  papa ;  and  you  yourself  would  have  done  just 
as  he  has — so  would  any  man.' 

'  And  any  man,  on  discovering  what  I  have  dis- 
covered, would  also  do  as  I  do,  and  mend  my  mistake ; 
that  is,  get  shot  of  him  again,  as  soon  as  the  laws  of 

95 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

hospitality  will  allow.'  But  Mr.  Swancourt  then  re- 
membered that  he  was  a  Christian.  '  I  would  not,  for 
the  world,  seem  to  turn  him  out  of  doors,'  he  added; 
'but  I  think  he  will  have  the  tact  to  see  that  he  cannot 
stay  long  after  this,  with  good  taste.' 

*  He  will,  because  he's  a  gentleman.  See  how  grace- 
ful his  manners  are,'  Elfride  went  on ;  though  perhaps 
Stephen's  manners,  like  the  feats  of  Euryalus,  owed  their 
attractiveness  in  her  eyes  rather  to  the  attractiveness  of 
his  person  than  to  their  own  excellence. 

'  Ay ;  anybody  can  be  what  you  call  graceful,  if  he 
lives  a  Httle  time  in  a  city,  and  keeps  his  eyes  open. 
And  he  might  have  picked  up  his  gentlemanliness  by 
going  to  the  galleries  of  theatres,  and  watching  stage 
drawing-room  manners.  He  reminds  me  of  one  of  the 
worst  stories  I  ever  heard  in  my  life.' 

'  What  story  was  that  ?  ' 

'  Oh  no,  thank  you !  I  wouldn't  tell  you  such  an 
improper  matter  for  the  world  ! ' 

'  If  his  father  and  mother  had  lived  in  the  north  or 
east  of  England,'  gallantly  persisted  Elfride,  though  her 
sobs  began  to  interrupt  her  articulation,  '  anywhere  but 
here — you — would  have — only  regarded — hi7n^  and  not 
them  I  His  station — would  have — been  what — his  pro- 
fession makes  it, — and  not  fixed  by — his  father's  humble 
position — at  all ;  whom  he  never  lives  with — now. 
Though  John  Smith  has  saved  lots  of  money,  and  is 
better  off  than  we  are,  they  say,  or  he  couldn't  have 
put  his  son  to  such  an  expensive  profession.  And  it 
is  clever  and — honourable — of  Stephen,  to  be  the  best 
of  his  family.' 

*  Yes.  "  Let  a  beast  be  lord  of  beasts,  and  his  crib 
shall  stand  at  the  king's  mess." ' 

*  You  insult  me,  papa  ! '  she  burst  out.  '  You  do, 
you  do !     He  is  my  own  Stephen,  he  is  ! ' 

*  That  may  or  may  not  be  true,  Elfride,'  returned 
her    father,   again    uncomfortably  agitated    in    spite   of 

96 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

himself.  '  You  confuse  future  probabilities  with  present 
facts, — what  the  young  man  may  be  with  what  he  is. 
We  must  look  at  what  he  is,  not  what  an  improbable 
degree  of  success  in  his  profession  may  make  him. 
The  case  is  this :  the  son  of  a  working-man  in  my 
parish  who  may  or  may  not  be  able  to  buy  me  up — . 
a  youth  who  has  not  yet  advanced  so  far  into  life  as 
to  have  any  income  of  his  own  deserving  the  name,  and 
therefore  of  his  father's  degree  as  regards  station — wants 
to  be  engaged  to  you.  His  family  are  hving  in  precisely 
the  same  spot  in  England  as  yours,  so  throughout  this 
county — which  is  the  world  to  us — you  would  always 
be  known  as  the  wife  of  Jack  Smith  the  mason's  son, 
and  not  under  any  circumstances  as  the  wife  of  a 
London  professional  man.  Xris^thedrawback,  not  the< 
compensating  fact,  that  is  talked  of  always.  There,  say 
no  more.  You  may  argue  all  night,  and  prove  what 
you  will ;  I'll  stick  to  my  words.' 

Elfride  looked  silently  and  hopelessly  out  of  the 
window  with  large  heavy  eyes  and  wet  cheeks. 

*  I  call  it  great  temerity — and  long  to  call  it  audacity 
— in  Hewby,'  resumed  her  father.  '  I  never  heard  such 
a  thing — giving  such  a  hobbledehoy  native  of  this  place 
such  an  introduction  to  me  as  he  did.  Naturally  you 
were  deceived  as  well  as  I  was.  I  don't  blame  you  at 
all,  so  far.'  He  went  and  searched  for  Mr.  Hewby's 
original  letter.  '  Here's  what  he  said  to  me  :  "  Dear 
Sir, — Agreeably  to  your  request  of  the  i8th  instant, 
I  have  arranged  to  survey  and  make  drawings,"  et  ccEtera. 
"  My  assistant,  Mr.  Stephen  Smith  " — assistant,  you  see 
he  called  him,  and  naturally  I  understood  him  to  mean 
a  sort  of  partner.     Why  didn't  he  say  "  clerk  "  ?  ' 

'They  never  call  them  clerks  in  that  profession, 
because  they  do  not  write.  Stephen — Mr.  Smith — told 
me  so.  So  that  Mr.  Hewby  simply  used  the  accepted 
word.' 

'  Let  me  speak,  please,  Elfride  !     "  My  assistant,  Mr. 
97  G 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Stephen  Smith,  will  leave  London  by  the  early  train 
to-morrow  morning  .  .  .  many  thanks  for  your  proposal 
to  accom?nodate  him  .  .  .  you  may  put  every  confidence  in 
him,  and  may  rely  upon  his  discernment  in  the  matter 
of  church  architecture."  Well,  I  repeat  that  Hewby 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself  for  making  so  much 
of  a  poor  lad  of  that  sort.' 

'  Professional  men  in  London,'  Elfride  argued,  '  don't 
know  anything  about  their  clerks'  fathers  and  mothers. 
They  have  assistants  who  come  to  their  offices  and 
shops  for  years,  and  hardly  even  know  where  they  live. 
What  they  can  do — what  profits  they  can  bring  the  firm 
— that's  all  London  men  care  about.  And  that  is  helped 
in  him  by  his  faculty  of  being  uniformly  pleasant.' 

*  Uniform  pleasantness  is  rather  a  defect  than  a 
^/  faculty.     It  shows  that  a  man  hasn't  sense  enough  to 

/  know  whom  to  despise.' 

'  It  shows  that  he  acts  by  faith  and  not  by  sight,  as 
those  you  claim  succession  from  directed.' 

'  That's  some  more  of  what  he's  been  telling  you, 
I  suppose !  Yes,  I  was  inclined  to  suspect  him, 
because  he  didn't  care  about  sauces  of  any  kind.  I 
always  did  doubt  a  man's  being  a  gentleman  if  his 
palate  had  no  acquired  tastes.  An  unedified  palate  is 
I  the  irrepressible  cloven  foot  of  the  upstart.  The  idea 
of  my  bringing  out  a  bottle  of  my  '40  Martinez — only 
eleven  of  them  left  now — to  a  man  who  didn't  know  it 
from  eighteenpenny !  Then  the  Latin  line  he  gave  to 
my  quotation ;  it  was  very  cut-and- dried,  very ;  or  I, 
who  haven't  looked  into  a  classical  author  for  the  last 
eighteen  years,  shouldn't  have  remembered  it.  Well, 
Elfride,  you  had  better  go  to  your  room;  you'll  get 
over  this  bit  of  tomfoolery  in  time.' 

'  No,  no,  no,  papa,'  she  moaned.  For  of  all  the 
^  miseries  attaching  to  miserable  love,  the  worst  is  the 
•  misery  of  thinking  that  the  passion  which  is  the  cause 
of  them  all  may  cease. 

98 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Elfride,'  said  her  father  with  rough  friendliness,  '  I 
have  an  excellent  scheme  on  hand,  which  I  cannot 
tell  you  of  now.  A  scheme  to  benefit  you  and  me. 
It  has  been  thrust  upon  me  for  some  little  time — 
yes,  thrust  upon  me — but  I  didn't  dream  of  its  value 
till  this  afternoon,  when  the  revelation  came.  I  should 
be  most  unwise  to  refuse  to  entertain  it.' 

'I  don't  like  that  word,'  she  returned  wearily. 
'  You  have  lost  so  much  already  by  schemes.  Is  it 
those  wretched  mines  again  ? ' 

'  No ;  not  a  mining  scheme.' 

'  Railways  ? ' 

'  Nor  railways.  It  is  like  those  mysterious  offers 
we  see  advertised,  by  which  any  gentleman  with  no 
brains  at  all  may  make  so  much  a  week  without  risk, 
trouble,  or  soiling  his  fingers.  However,  I  am  in- 
tending to  say  nothing  till  it  is  settled,  though  I  will 
just  say  this  much,  that  you  soon  may  have  other  fish 
to  fry  than  to  think  of  Stephen  Smith.  Remember, 
I  wish,  not  to  be  angry,  but  friendly,  to  the  young 
man ;  for  your  sake  I'll  regard  him  as  a  friend  in  a 
certain  sense.  But  this  is  enough ;  in  a  few  days 
you  will  be  quite  my  way  of  thinking.  There,  now, 
go  to  your  bedroom.  Unity  shall  bring  you  up  some 
supper.  I  wish  you  not  to  be  here  when  he  comes 
back.' 


'  Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree. ' 

oTEPHEN  retraced  his  steps  towards  the  cottage  he 
had  visited  only  two  or  three  hours  previously.  He 
drew  near  and  under  the  rich  foliage  growing  about 
the  outskirts  of  Endelstow  Park,  the  spotty  lights  and 
shades  from  the  shining  moon  maintaining  a  race  over 
his  head  and  down  his  back  in  an  endless  gambol. 
When  he  crossed  the  plank  bridge  and  entered  the 
garden-gate,  he  saw  an  illuminated  figure  coming  from 
the  enclosed  plot  towards  the  house  on  the  other  side. 
It  was  his  father,  with  his  hand  in  a  sling,  taking  a 
general  moonlight  view  of  the  garden,  and  particularly 
of  a  plot  of  the  youngest  of  young  turnips,  previous 
to  closing  the  cottage  for  the  night. 

He  saluted  his  son  with  customary  force.  '  Hallo, 
Stephen  !  We  should  ha'  been  in  bed  in  another  ten 
minutes. '  Come  to  see  what's  the  matter  wi'  me,  I 
suppose,  my  lad  ?  ' 

The  doctor  had  come  and  gone,  and  the  hand  had 
been  pronounced  as  injured  but  slightly,  though  it 
might  possibly  have  been  considered  a  far  more  serious 
case  if  Mr.  Smith  had  been  a  more  important  man. 
Stephen's  anxious  inquiry  drew  from  his  father  words 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  regret  at  the  inconvenience  to  the  world  of  his 
doing  nothing  for  the  next  two  days,  rather  than  of 
concern  for  the  pain  of  the  accident.  Together  they 
entered  the  house. 

John  Smith — brown  as  autumn  as  to  skin,  white 
as  winter  as  to  clothes — was  a  satisfactory  specimen 
of  the  village  artificer  in  stone.  In  common  with 
most  rural  mechanics,  he  had  too  much  individuality 
to  be  a  typical  '  working-man ' — a  resultant  of  that 
beach-pebble  attrition  with  his  kind  only  to  be  ex- 
perienced in  large  towns,  which  metamorphoses  the  f 
unit  Self  into  a  fraction  of  the  unit  Class. 

There  was  not  the  speciality  in  his  labour  which 
distinguishes  the  handicraftsmen  of  towns.  Though 
only  a  mason,  strictly  speaking,  he  was  not  above 
handling  a  brick,  if  bricks  were  the  order  of  the  day ; 
or  a  slate  or  tile,  if  a  roof  had  to  be  covered  before 
the  wet  weather  set  in,  and  nobody  was  near  who 
could  do  it  better.  Indeed,  on  one  or  two  occasions 
in  the  depth  of  winter,  when  frost  peremptorily  forbids 
all  use  of  the  trowel,  making  foundations  to  settle, 
stones  to  fly,  and  mortar  to  crumble,  he  had  taken 
to  felling  and  sawing  trees.  Moreover,  he  had  prac- 
tised gardening  in  his  own  plot  for  so  many  years 
that,  on  an  emergency,  he  might  have  made  a  living 
by  that  calling. 

Probably  our  countryman  was  not  such  an  accom- 
plished artificer  in  a  particular  direction  as  his  town 
brethren  in  the  trades.  But  he  was,  in  truth,  like  that 
clumsy  pin-maker  who  made  the  whole  pin,  and  who 
was  despised  by  Adam  Smith  on  that  account  and 
respected  by  Macaulay,  much  more  the  artist  never- 
theless. 

Appearing  now,  indoors,  by  the  light  of  the  candle, 
his  stalwart  healthiness  was  a  sight  to  see.  His  beard 
was  close  and  knotted  as  that  of  a  chiselled  Hercules ; 
his  shirt  sleeves   were  partly  rolled  up,  his  waistcoat 

lOI 


A   PAIR    OF   BLUE   EYES 

unbuttoned;  the  difference  in  hue  between  the  snowy 
linen  and  the  ruddy  arms  and  face  contrasting  hke  the 
white  of  an  egg  and  its  yolk.  Mrs.  Smith,  on  hearing 
them  enter,  advanced  from  the  pantry. 

Mrs.  Smith  was  a  matron  whose  countenance  ad- 
dressed itself  to  the  mind  rather  than  to  the  eye,  though 
not  exclusively.  She  retained  her  personal  freshness 
even  now,  in  the  prosy  afternoon-time  of  her  life ;  but 
what  her  features  were  primarily  indicative  of  was  a 
sound  common  sense  behind  them ;  as  a  whole,  appear- 
ing to  carry  with  them  a  sort  of  argumentative  commen- 
tary on  the  world  in  general. 

The  details  of  the  accident  were  then  rehearsed  by 
Stephen's  father,  in  the  dramatic  manner  also  common 
to  Martin  Cannister,  other  individuals  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  the  rural  world  generally.  Mrs.  Smith  threw 
in  her  sentiments  between  the  acts,  as  Coryphaeus  of 
the  tragedy,  to  make  the  description  complete.  The 
story  at  last  came  to  an  end,  as  the  longest  will,  and 
Stephen  directed  the  conversation  into  another  channel. 

'  Well,  mother,  they  know  everything  about  me  now,' 
he  said  quietly. 

'  Well  done ! '  replied  his  father ;  '  now  my  mind's 
at  peace.' 

'  I  blame  myself — I  never  shall  forgive  myself — for 
not  telling  them  before,'  continued  the  young  man. 

Mrs.  Smith  at  this  point  abstracted  her  mind  from 
the  former  subject.  '  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to 
grieve  about,  Stephen,'  she  said.  '  People  who  acci- 
dentally get  friends  don't,  as  a  first  stroke,  tell  the 
history  of  their  families.' 

*  Ye've  done  no  wrong,  certainly,'  said  his  father. 

'  No ;  but  I  should  have  spoken  sooner.  There's 
more  in  this  visit  of  mine  than  you  think — a  good  deal 
more.' 

'  Not  more  than  /  think,'  Mrs.  Smith  replied,  look- 
ing contemplatively  at  him.     Stephen  blushed ;  and  his 

I02 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

father  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  a  state  of  utter 
incomprehension. 

'  She's  a  pretty  piece  enough/  Mrs.  Smith  continued, 
'and  very  lady-hke  and  clever  too.  But  though  she's 
very  well  fit  for  you  as  far  as  that  is,  why,  mercy  'pon 
me,  what  ever  do  you  want  any  woman  at  all  for  yet  ? ' 

John  made  his  naturally  short  mouth  a  long  one, 
and  wrinkled  his  forehead,  *  That's  the  way  the  wind 
d'blow,  is  it  ? '  he  said. 

'  Mother,'  exclaimed  Stephen,  '  how  absurdly  you 
speak !  Criticizing  whether  she's  fit  for  me  or  no,  as 
if  there  were  room  for  doubt  on  the  matter !  Why,  to 
marry  her  would  be  the  great  blessing  of  my  life — socially 
and  practically,  as  well  as  in  other  respects.  No  such 
good  fortune  as  that,  I'm  afraid;  she's  too  far  above 
me.  Her  family  doesn't  want  such  country  lads  as  I 
in  it.' 

'  Then  if  they  don't  want  you,  I'd  see  them  dead 
corpses  before  I'd  want  them,  and  go  to  better  families 
who  do  want  you.' 

'  Ah,  yes  ;  but  I  could  never  put  up  with  the  distaste 
of  being  welcomed  among  such  people  as  you  mean, 
whilst  I  could  get  indifference  among  such  people  as 
hers.' 

'  What  crazy  twist  o'  thinking  will  enter  your  head 
next  ? '  said  his  mother.  *  And  come  to  that,  she's  not 
a  bit  too  high  for  you,  or  you  too  low  for  her.  See 
how  careful  I  be  to  keep  myself  up.  I'm  sure  I  never 
stop  for  more  than  a  minute  together  to  talk  to  any 
journeymen  people ;  and  I  never  invite  anybody  to  our 
party  o'  Christmases  who  are  not  in  business  for  them- 
selves. And  I  talk  to  several  toppermost  carriage  people 
that  come  to  my  lord's  without  saying  ma'am  or  sir  to 
'em,  and  they  take  it  as  quiet  as  lambs.' 

'  You  curtseyed  to  the  vicar,  mother ;  and  I  wish 
you  hadn't.' 

'  But  it  was  before  he  called  me  by  my  Christian 
103 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

name,  or  he  would  have  got  very  little  curtseying  from 
me ! '  said  Mrs.  Smith,  bridling  and  sparkling  with 
vexation.  'You  go  on  at  me,  Stephen,  as  if  I  were 
your  worst  enemy  !  What  else  could  I  do  with  the  man 
to  get  rid  of  him,  banging  it  into  me  and  your  father 
by  side  and  by  seam,  about  his  greatness,  and  what 
happened  when  he  was  a  young  fellow  at  college,  and  I 
don't  know  what-all ;  the  tongue  o'  en  flopping  round 
his  mouth  like  a  mop-rag  round  a  dairy.  That  'a  did, 
didn't  he,  John  ?  ' 

'  That's  about  the  size  o't,'  replied  her  husband. 

'  Every  woman  now-a-days,'  resumed  Mrs.  Smith, 
*  if  she  marry  at  all,  must  expect  a  father-in-law  of  a 
rank  lower  than  her  father.  The  men  have  gone  up  so, 
and  the  women  have  stood  still.  Every  man  you  meet 
is  more  the  dand  than  his  father;  and  you  are  just  level 
wi'  her.' 

'  That's  what  she  thinks  herself.' 

*  It  only  shows  her  sense.  I  knew  she  was  after  'ee, 
Stephen — I  knew  it.' 

'  After  me  !     Good  Lord,  what  next ! ' 

'  And  I  really  must  say  again  that  you  ought  not 
to  be  in  such  a  hurry,  and  wait  for  a  few  years.  You 
might  go  higher  than  a  bankrupt  pa'son's  girl  then.' 

'  The  fact  is,  mother,'  said  Stephen  impatiently,  '  you 
don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  shall  never  go  higher, 
because  I  don't  want  to,  nor  should  I  if  I  Hved  to  be 
a  hundred.  As  to  you  saying  that  she's  after  me,  I 
don't  like  such  a  remark  about  her,  for  it  implies  a 
scheming  woman,  and  a  nian  worth  scheming  for,  both 
of  which  are  not  only  untrue,  but  ludicrously  untrue, 
of  this  case.      Isn't  it  so,  father  ?  ' 

'  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand  the  matter  well 
enough  to  gie  my  opinion,'  said  his  father,  in  the  tone 
of  the  fox  who  had  a  cold  and  could  not  smell. 

'  She  couldn't  have  been  very  backward  anyhow, 
considering   the   short  time  you  have  known  her,'  said 

104 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

his  mother.  '  Well  I  think  that  five  years  hence  you'll 
be  plenty  young  enough  to  think  of  such  things.  And 
really  she  can  very  well  afford  to  wait,  and  will  too,  take 
my  word.  Living  down  in  an  out-step  place  like  this, 
I  am  sure  she  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  you  took 
notice  of  her.  She'd  most  likely  have  died  an  old  maid 
if  you  hadn't  turned  up.' 

'  All  nonsense,'  said  Stephen,  but  not  aloud. 

'  A  nice  little  thing  she  is,'  Mrs.  Smith  went  on  in 
a  more  complacent  tone  now  that  Stephen  had  been 
talked  down ;  '  there's  not  a  word  to  say  against  her, 
I'll  own.  I  see  her  sometimes  decked  out  like  a  horse 
going  to  fair,  and  I  admire  her  for't.  A  perfect  Httle 
lady!  But  people  can't  help  their  thoughts,  and  if  she'd 
learnt  to  make  figures  instead  of  letters  when  she  was 
at  school  'twould  have  been  better  for  her  pocket ;  for 
as  I  said,  there  never  were  worse  times  for  such  as  she 
than  now.' 

*  Now,  now,  mother ! '  said  Stephen  with  smiling 
deprecation. 

*  But  I  will ! '  said  his  mother  with  asperity.  '  I 
don't  read  the  papers  for  nothing,  and  I  know  men  all 
move  up  a  stage  by  marriage.  Men  of  her  class,  that 
is,  parsons,  marry  squires'  daughters;  squires  marry 
lords'  daughters ;  lords  marry  dukes'  daughters ;  dukes 
marry  queens'  daughters.  All  stages  of  gentlemen 
mate  a  stage  higher;  and  the  lowest  stage  of  gentle- 
women are  left  single,  or  marry  out  of  their  class.' 

*  But  you  said  just  now,  dear  mother '  retorted 

Stephen,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  of  showing 
his  mother  her  inconsistency.     Then  he  paused. 

'  Well,  what  did  I  say  ?  '  And  Mrs.  Smith  prepared 
her  Hps  for  a  new  campaign. 

Stephen,  regretting  that  he  had  begun,  since  a 
volcano  might  be  the  consequence,  was  obliged  to 
go  on. 

'You  said  I  wasn't  out  of  her  class  just  before.' 

H  105 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Yes,  there,  there !  That's  you  ;  that's  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  I'll  warrant  that  you'll  pick  holes  in 
everything  your  mother  says,  if  you  can,  Stephen.  You 
are  just  like  your  father  for  that ;  take  anybody's  part 
but  mine.  Whilst  I  am  speaking  and  talking  and 
trying  and  slaving  away  for  your  good,  you  are  waiting 
to  catch  me  out  in  that  way.  So  you  are  in  her  class, 
but  'tis  what  her  people  would  call  marrying  out  of  her 
class.      Don't  be  so  quarrelsome,  Stephen  ! ' 

Stephen  preserved  a  discreet  silence,  in  which  he  was 
imitated  by  his  father,  and  for  several  minutes  nothing 
was  heard  but  the  ticking  of  the  green-faced  case-clock 
against  the  wall. 

'  I'm  sure,'  added  Mrs.  Smith  in  a  more  philosophic 
tone,  and  as  a  terminative  speech,  '  if  there'd  been  so 
much  trouble  to  get  a  husband  in  my  time  as  there  is  in 
these  days — when  you  must  make  a  god-almighty  of  a 
man  to  get  en  to  hae  ye — I'd  have  trod  clay  for  bricks 
before  I'd  ever  have  lowered  my  dignity  to  marry,  or 
there's  no  bread  in  nine  loaves.' 

The  discussion  now  dropped,  and  as  it  was  getting 
late,  Stephen  bade  his  parents  farewell  for  the  evening, 
his  mother  none  the  less  warmly  for  their  sparring ;  for 
although  Mrs.  Smith  and  Stephen  were  always  contend- 
ing, they  were  never  at  enmity. 

'  And  possibly,'  said  Stephen,  '  I  may  leave  here 
altogether  to-morrow;  I  don't  know.  So  that  if  I 
shouldn't  call  again  before  returning  to  London,  don't 
be  alarmed,  will  you  ?  ' 

'  But  didn't  you  come  for  a  fortnight  ? '  said  his 
mother.  '  And  haven't  you  a  month's  holiday  alto- 
gether ?     They  are  going  to  turn  you  out,  then  ?  ' 

'  Not  at  all.  I  may  stay  longer ;  I  may  go.  If  I  go, 
you  had  better  say  nothing  about  my  having  been  here, 
for  her  sake.  At  what  time  of  the  morning  does  the 
carrier  pass  Endelstow  lane  ?  ' 

'  Seven  o'clock.' 

io6 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE    EYES 

And  then  he  left  them.  His  thoughts  were,  that 
should  the  vicar  permit  him  to  become  engaged,  to  hope 
for  an  engagement,  or  in  any  way  to  think  of  his  beloved 
Elfride,  he  might  stay  longer.  Should  he  be  forbidden 
to  think  of  any  such  thing,  he  resolved  to  go  at  once. 
And  the  latter,  even  to  young  hopefulness,  seemed  the 
more  probable  alternative. 

Stephen  walked  back  to  the  vicarage  through  the 
meadows,  as  he  had  come,  surrounded  by  the  soft 
musicll  purl  of  the  water  through  little  weirs,  the  modest 
light  of  tlie  moon,  the  freshening  smell  of  the  dews  out- 
spread around.  It  was  a  time  when  mere  seeing  is 
meditation,  and  meditation  peace.  Stephen  was  hardly 
philosopher  enough  to  avail  himself  of  Nature's  offer. 
His  constitution  was  made  up  of  very  simple  particulars  ; 
was  one  which,  rare  in  the  spring-time  of  civilizations, 
seems  to  grow  abundant  as  a,  nation  gets  older,  individu- 
ality fades,  and  education  spreads  ;  that  is,  his  brain  had 
extraordinary  receptive  powers,  and  no  great  creativeness. 
Quickly  acquiring  any  kind  of  knowledge  he  saw  around 
him,  and  having  a  plastic  adaptability  more  common  in 
woman  than  in  man,  he  changed  colour  like  a  chameleon 
as  the  society  he  found  himself  in  assumed  a  higher  and 
more  artificial  tone.  He  had  not  many  original  ideas, 
and  yet  there  was  scarcely  an  idea  to  which,  under 
proper  training,  he  could  not  have  added  a  respectable 
co-ordinate.  ^ 

He  saw  nothing  outside  himself  to-nigh|P|^nd  what 
he  saw  within  was  a  weariness  to  his  flesh.  Yet  to  a 
dispassionate  observer,  his  pretensions  to  Elfride,  though 
rather  premature,  were  far  from  absurd  as  marriages  go, 
unless  the  accidental  proximity  oj  simple  but  honest 
pa-rents  could  be  said  to  make  them  so. 

The  clock  struck  eleven  when  he  entered  the  house. 

Elfride  had  been  waiting  with  scarcely  a  movement  since 

he  departed.     Before  he  had  spoken  to  her  she  caught 

sight  of  him  passing  into  the  study  with  her  father.    She 

107 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

saw  that  he  had  by  some  means  obtained  the  private 
interview  he  desired. 

A  nervous  headache  had  been  growing  on  the  ex- 
citable girl  during  the  absence  of  Stephen,  and  now  she 
could  do  nothing  beyond  going  up  again  to  her  room  as 
she  had  done  before.  Instead  of  lying  down  she  sat 
again  in  the  darkness  without  closing  the  door,  and 
listened  with  a  beating  heart  to  every  sound  from  down- 
stairs. The  serv-ants  had  gone  to  bed.  She  ultimately 
heard  the  two  men  come  from  the  study  and  cross  to 
the  dining-room,  where  supper  had  been  Hngering  for 
more  than  an  hour.  The  door  was  left  open,  and  she 
found  that  the  meal,  such  as  it  was,  passed  off  between 
her  father  and  her  lover  without  any  remark,  save 
commonplaces  as  to  cucumbers  and  melons,  their  whole- 
someness  and  culture,  uttered  in  a  stiif  and  formal  way. 
It  seemed  to  prefigure  failure. 

Shortly  afterwards  Stephen  came  upstairs  to  his  bed- 
room, and  was  almost  immediately  followed  by  her  father, 
who  also  retired  for  the  night.  Not  inclined  to  get  a 
light,  she  partly  undressed  and  sat  on  the  bed,  where  she 
remained  in  pained  thought  for  some  time,  possibly  an 
hour.  Then  rising  to  close  her  door  previously  to  fully 
unrobing,  she  saw  a  streak  of  light  shining  across  the 
landing.  Her  father's  door  was  shut,  and  he  could  be 
heard  snoring  regularly.  The  light  came  from  Stephen's 
room,  an(^the  slight  sounds  also  coming  thence  em- 
phaticallypB^noted  what  he  was  doing.  In  the  perfect 
silence  she  could  hear  the  closing  of  a  lid  and  the  click- 
ing of  a  lock, — he  was  fastening  his  hat-box.  Then 
the  buckling  of  straps  and  the  click  of  another  key, 
— ^he  was  securing  his  portmanteau.  With  trebled 
foreboding  she  opened  her  door  softly,  and  went  to- 
wards his.  One  sensation  pervaded  her  to  distrac- 
tion. Stephen,  her  handsome  youth  and  darling,  was 
going  away,  and  she  might  never  see  him  again  except 
in  secret  and  in  sadness — perhaps  never  more.  At 
io8 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

any  rate,  she  could  no  longer  wait  till  the  morning  to 
hear  the  result  of  the  interview,  as  she  had  intended. 
She  flung  her  dressing-gown  round  her,  tapped  lightly 
at  his  door,  and  whispered  *  Stephen ! '  He  came 
instantly,  opened  the  door,  and  stepped  out. 

*  Tell  me ;  are  we  to  hope  ?  ' 

He  replied  in  a  disturbed  whisper,  and  a  tear  ap- 
proached its  outlet,  though  none  fell. 

*  I  am  not  to  think  of  such  a  preposterous  thing — 
that's  what  he  said.  And  I  am  going  to-morrow.  I 
shopld  have  called  you  up  to  bid  you  good-bye.' 

*  But  he  didn't  say  you  were  to  go — O  Stephen,  he 
didn't  say  that  ? ' 

'  No ;  not  in  words.     But  I  cannot  stav.' 

*  Oh,  don't,  don't  go !  Do  come  and  let  us  talk. 
Let  us  come  down  to  the  drawing-room  for  a  few 
minutes ;  he  will  hear  us  here.' 

She  preceded  him  down  the  staircase  with  the  taper 
hght  in  her  hand,  looking  unnaturally  tall  and  thin  in 
the  long  dove-coloured  dressing-gown  she  wore.  She 
did  not  stop  to  think  of  the  propriety  or  otherwise  of 
this  midnight  interview  under  such  circumstances.  She 
thought  that  the  tragedy  of  her  life  was  beginning,  and, 
for  the  first  time  almost,  felt  that  her  existence  might 
have  a  ^rave  side,  the  shade  of  which  enveloped  and 
rendered  invisible  the  delicate  gradations  of  custom  and 
punctilio.  Elfride  softly  opened  the  drawing-room  door 
and  they  both  went  in.  WTien  she  had  "placed  the 
candle  on  the  table,  he  enclosed  her  with  his  arms, 
dried  her  eyes  with  his  handkerchief,  and  kissed  their 
hds. 

'  Stephen,  it  is  over — happy  love  is  over ;  and  there 
is  no  more  sunshine  now  ! ' 

'  I  will  make  a  fortune,  and  come  to  you,  and  have 
you.     Yes,  I  will ! ' 

'  Papa  will  never  hear  of  it — never — never  !  You 
don't  know  him.  I  do.  He  is  either  biassed  in  favour 
109 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  a  thing,  or  prejudiced  against  it.  Argument  is  power- 
less against  either  feeling.' 

'  No ;  I  won't  think  of  him  so,'  said  Stephen.  '  If  I 
appear  before  him  some  time  hence  as  a  man  of  estab- 
lished name,  he  will  accept  me — I  know  he  will.  He 
is  not  a  wicked  man.' 

'  No,  he  is  not  wicked.  But  you  say  "  some  time 
hence,"  as  if  it  were  no  time.  To  you,  among  bustle 
and  excitement,  it  will  be  comparatively  a  short  time, 
perhaps ;  oh,  to  me,  it  will  be  its  real  length  trebled ! 
Every  summer  will  be  a  year — autumn  a  year — winter 
a  year  !      O  Stephen  !  and  you  may  forget  me  ! ' 

Forget :  that  was,  and  is,  the  real  sting  of  waiting  to 
fond-hearted  woman.  The  remark  awoke  in  Stephen 
the  converse  fear.  '  You,  too,  may  be  persuaded  to 
give  me  up,  when  time  has  made  me  fainter  in  your 
memory.  For,  remember,  your  love  for  me  must  be 
nourished  in  secret;  there  will  be  no  long  visits  from 
me  to  support  you.  Circumstances  will  always  tend  to 
obliterate  me.' 

'  Stephen,'  she  said,  filled  with  her  own  misgivings, 
and  unheeding  his  last  words,  '  there  are  beautiful 
women  where  you  hve — of  course  I  know  there  are — 
and  they  may  win  you  away  from  me.'  Her  tears  came 
visibly  as  she  drew  a  mental  picture  of  his  faithlessness. 
'  And  it  won't  be  your  fault,'  she  continued,  looking 
into  the  candle  with  doleful  eyes.  '  No !  You  will 
think  that  our  family  don't  want  you,  and  get  to  include 
me  with  them.  And  there  will  be  a  vacancy  in  your 
heart,  and  some  others  will  be  let  in.' 

'  I  could  not,  I  would  not.  Elfie,  do  not  be  so 
full  of  forebodings.' 

'  Oh  yes,  they  will,'  she  replied.  '  And  you  will 
look  at  them,  not  caring  at  first,  and  then  you  will 
look  and  be  interested,  and  after  a  while  you  will  think, 
"  Ah,  they  know  all  about  city  life,  and  assembhes, 
and  coteries,  and  the  manners  of  the  titled,  and  poor 

no 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

little  Elfie,  with  all  the  fuss  that's  made  about  her 
having  me,  doesn't  know  about  anything  but  a  little 
house  and  a  few  cliffs  and  a  space  of  sea,  far  away." 
And  then  you'll  be  more  interested  in  them,  and  they'll 
make  you  have  them  instead  of  me,  on  purpose  to  be 
cruel  to  me  because  I  am  silly,  and  they  are  clever 
and  hate  me.     And  I  hate  them,  too ;  yes,  I  do  ! ' 

Her  impulsive  words  had  power  to  impress  him 
at  any  rate  with  the  recognition  of  the  uncertainty  of 
all  that  is  not  accomplished.  And,  worse  than  that 
general  feeling,  there  of  course  remained  the  sadness 
which  arose  from  the  special  features  of  his  own  case. 
However  remote  a  desired  issue  may  be,  the  mere 
fact  of  having  entered  the  groove  which  leads  to  it, 
cheers  to  some  extent  with  a  sense  of  accomplishment. 
Had  Mr.  Swancourt  consented  to  an  engagement  of 
no  less  length  than  ten  years,  Stephen  would  have 
been  comparatively  cheerful  in  waiting;  they  would 
have  felt  that  they  were  somewhere  on  the  road  to 
Cupid's  garden.  But,  with  a  possibility  of  a  shorter 
probation,  they  had  not  as  yet  any  prospect  of  the 
beginning;  the  zero  of  hope  had  yet  to  be  reached. 
Mr.  Swancourt  would  have  to  revoke  his  formidable 
words  before  the  waiting  for  marriage  could  even  set 
in.     And  this  was  despair. 

'  I  wish  we  could  marry  now,'  murmured  Stephen, 
as  an  impossible  fancy. 

*So  do  I,'  said  she  also,  as  if  regarding  an  idle 
dream.  '  'Tis  the  only  thing  that  ever  does  sweet- 
hearts good ! ' 

'  Secretly  would  do,  would  it  not,  Elfie  ? ' 

*Yes,  secretly  would  do;  secretly  would  indeed  be 
best,'  she  said,  and  went  on  reflectively :  '  All  we  want 
is  to  render  it  absolutely  impossible  for  any  future 
circumstance  to  upset  our  future  intention  of  being 
happy  together ;  not  to  begin  being  happy  now.' 

*  Exactly,'  he  murmured  in  a  voice  and  manner  the 
III 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

counterpart  of  hers.  *  To  marry  and  part  secretly,  and 
live  on  as  we  are  living  now ;  merely  to  put  it  out  of 
anybody's  power  to  force  you  away  from  me,  dearest.' 

'  Or  you  away  from  me,  Stephen.' 

*  Or  me  from  you.  It  is  possible  to  conceive  a  force 
of  circumstance  strong  enough  to  make  any  woman 
in  the  world  marry  against  her  will :  no  conceivable 
pressure,  up  to  torture  or  starvation,  can  make  a  woman 
once  married  to  her  lover  anybody  else's  wife.' 

Now  up  to  this  point  the  idea  of  an  immediate 
secret  marriage  had  been  held  by  both  as  an  untenable 
hypothesis,  wherewith  simply  to  beguile  a  miserable 
moment.  During  a  pause  which  followed  Stephen's 
last  remark,  a  fascir^ating  perception,  then  an  alluring 
conviction,  flashed  along  the  brain  of  both.  The 
perception  was  that  an  immediate  marriage  could  be 
contrived;  the  conviction  that  such  an  act,  in  spite 
of  its  daring,  its  fathomless  results,  its  deceptiveness, 
would  be  preferred  by  each  to  the  life  they  must  lead 
under  any  other  conditions. 

The  youth  spoke  first,  and  his  voice  trembled  with 
the  magnitude  of  the  conception  he  was  cherishing. 
*  How  strong  we  should  feel,  Elfride !  going  on  our 
separate  courses  as  before,  without  the  fear  of  ultimate 
separation  !      O  Elfride  !   think  of  it ;  think  of  it ! ' 

It  is  certain  that  the  young  girl's  love  for  Stephen 
received  a  fanning  from  her  father's  opposition  which 
made  it  blaze  with  a  dozen  times  the  intensity  it  would 
have  exhibited  if  left  alone.  Never  were  conditions 
more  favourable  for  developing  a  girl's  first  passing 
fancy  for  a  handsome  boyish  face — a  fancy  rooted  in 
inexperience  and  nourished  by  seclusion — into  a  wild 
unreflecting  passion  fervid  enough  for  anything.  All 
the  elements  of  such  a  development  were  there,  the 
chief  one  being  hopelessness — a  necessary  ingredient 
always  to  perfect  the  mixture  of  feelings  united  under 
the  name  of  loving  to  distraction. 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

*  We  would  tell  papa  soon,  would  we  not  ? '  she  - 
inquired  timidly.  '  Nobody  else  need  know.  He 
would  then  be  convinced  that  hearts  cannot  be  played 
with;  love  encouraged  be  ready  to  grow,  love  dis- 
couraged be  ready  to  die,  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Stephen,  do  you  not  think  that  if  marriages  against 
a  parent's  consent  are  ever  justifiable,  they  are  when 
young  people  have  been  favoured  up  to  a  point,  as 
we  have,  and  then  have  had  that  favour  suddenly 
withdrawn  ? ' 

*  Yes.  It  is  not  as  if  we  had  from  the  beginning 
acted  in  opposition  to  your  papa's  wishes.  Only  think, 
Elfie,  how  pleasant  he  was  towards  me  but  six  hours 
ago !  He  liked  me,  praised  me,  never  objected  to  my 
being  alone  with  you.' 

*  I  believe  he  must  like  you  now,'  she  cried.  *  And 
if  he  found  that  you  irremediably  belonged  to  me,  he 
would  own  it  and  help  you.  '  O  Stephen,  Stephen,' 
she  burst  out  again,  as  the  remembrance  of  his  packing 
came  afresh  to  her  mind,  '  I  cannot  bear  your  going 
away  like  this  !  It  is  too  dreadful.  All  I  have  been 
expecting  miserably  killed  within  me  like  this  ! ' 

Stephen  flushed  hot  with  impulse.  *  I  will  not  be  a 
doubt  to  you—  thought  of  you  shall  not  be  a  misery  to 
me !  '  he  said.  '  We  will  be  wife  and  husband  before 
we  part  for  long  ! ' 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  'Anything  to 
'make  sure  ! '  she  whispered. 

'  I  did  not  like  to  propose  it  immediately,'  continued 
Stephen.  '  It  seemed  to  me — it  seems  to  me  now — 
Hke  trying  to  catch  you — a  girl  better  in  the  world 
than  I.' 

'  Not  that,  indeed !  And  am  I  better  in  worldly 
station?  What's  the  use  of  have  beens?  We  may 
have  been  something  once ;  we  are  nothing  now.' 

Then  they  whispered  long  and  earnestly  together; 
Stephen    hesitatingly    proposing    this    and    that    plan, 

113  H 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Elfride  modifying  them,  with  quick  breathings,  and 
hectic  flush,  and  unnaturally  bright  eyes.  It  was  two 
o'clock  before  an  arrangement  was  finally  concluded. 

She  then  told  him  to  leave  her,  giving  him  his  light 
to  go  up  to  his  own  room.  They  parted  with  an  agree- 
ment not  to  meet  again  in  the  morning.  After  his  door 
had  been  some  time  closed  he  heard  her  softly  gliding 
into  her  chamber. 


XI 

•Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting.' 

Stephen  lay  watching  the  Great  Bear ;  Elfride  was 
regarding  a  monotonous  parallelogram  of  window  blind. 
Neither  slept  that  night. 

Early  the  next  morning — that  is  to  say,  four  hours 
after  their  stolen  interview,  and  just  &s  the  earliest 
servant  was  heard  moving  about — Stephen  Smith  went 
downstairs,  portmanteau  in  hand.  Throughout  the 
night  he  had  intended  to  see  Mr.  Swancourt  again, 
but  the  sharp  rebuff  of  the  previous  evening  rendered 
such  an  interview  particularly  distasteful.  Perhaps 
there  was  another  and  less  honest  reason.  He  decided 
to  put  it  off.  Whatever  of  moral  timidity  or  obUquity 
may  have  lain  in  such  a  decision,  no  perception  of  it 
was  strong  enough  to  detain  him.  He  wrote  a  note  in 
his  room,  which  stated  simply  that  he  did  not  feel 
happy  in  the  house  after  Mr.  Swancourt's  sudden  veto 
on  what  he  had  favoured  a  few  hours  before ;  but  that 
he  hoped  a  time  would  come,  and  that  soon,  when  his 
original  feelings  of  pleasure  as  Mr.  Swancourt's  guest 
might  be  recovered. 

He  expected  to  find  the  downstairs  rooms  wearing 
the  gray  and  cheerless  aspect  that  early  morning  gives 
115 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE    EYES 

to  everything  out  of  the  sun.  He  found  in  the  dining, 
room  a  breakfast  laid,  of  which  somebody  had  just 
partaken. 

Stephen  gave  the  maid-servant  his  note  of  adieu. 
She  stated  that  Mr.  Swancourt  had  risen  early  that 
morning,  and  made  an  early  breakfast.  He  was  not 
going  away  that  she  knew  of. 

Stephen  took  a  cup  of  coffee,  left  the  house  of  his 
love,  and  turned  into  the  lane.  It  was  so  early  that 
the  shaded  places  still  smelt  like  night  time,  and  the 
sunny  spots  had  hardly  felt  the  sun.  The  horizontal 
rays  made  every  shallow  dip  in  the  ground  to  show  as 
a  well-marked  hollow.  Even  the  channel  of  the  path 
was  enough  to  throw  shade,  and  the  very  stones  of  the 
road  cast  tapering  dashes  of  darkness  westward,  as  long 
as  Jael's  tent-nail. 

At  a  spot  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
vicar's  residence  the  lane  leading  thence  crossed  the  high 
road.  Stephen  reached  the  point  of  intersection,  stood 
still  and  Hstened.  Nothing  could  be  heard  save  the 
lengthy,  murmuring  line  of  the  sea  upon  the  adjacent 
shore.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  then  mounted  a 
gate  upon  which  he  seated  himself,  to  await  the  arrival 
of  the  carrier.  Whilst  he  sat  he  heard  wheels  coming 
in  two  directions. 

The  vehicle  approaching  on  his  right  he  soon  recog- 
nized as  the  carrier's.  There  were  the  accompanying 
sounds  of  the  owner's  voice  and  the  smack  of  his  whip, 
distinct  in  the  still  morning  air,  by  which  he  encouraged 
his  horses  up  the  hill. 

The  other  set  of  wheels  sounded  from  the  lane 
Stephen  had  just  traversed.  On  closer  observation,  he 
perceived  that  they  were  moving  from  the  precincts  of 
the  ancient  manor-house  adjoining  the  vicarage  grounds. 
A  carriage  then  left  the  entrance  gates  of  the  house,  and 
wheeling  round  came  fully  in  sight.  It  was  a  plain 
travelling  carriage,  with  a  small  quantity  of  luggage, 
ii6 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

apparently  a  lady's.  The  vehicle  came  to  the  junction 
ot  the  four  ways  half-a-minute  before  the  carrier  reached 
the  same  spot,  and  crossed  directly  in  his  front,  pro- 
ceeding by  the  lane  on  the  other  side. 

Inside  the  carriage  Stephen  could  just  discern  an 
elderly  lady  with  a  younger  woman,  who  seemed  to  be 
her  maid.  The  road  they  had  taken  led  to  Stratleigh, 
a  small  watering-place  sixteen  miles  north. 

He  heard  the  manor-house  gates  swing  again,  and 
looking  up  saw  another  person  leaving  them,  and  walking 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  parsonage.  *  Ah,  how  much 
I  wish  I  were  moving  that  way  ! '  felt  he  parenthetically. 
The  gentleman  was  tall,  and  resembled  Mr.  Swancourt 
in  outHne  and  attire.  He  opened  the  vicarage  gate  and 
went  in.  Mr.  Swancourt,  then,  it  certainly  was.  Instead 
of  remaining  in  bed  that  morning  Mr.  Swancourt  must 
have  taken  it  into  his  head  to  see  his  new  neighbour  off 
on  a  journey.  He  must  have  been  greatly  interested  in 
that  neighbour  to  do  such  an  unusual  thing. 

The  carrier's  conveyance  had  pulled  up,  and  Stephen 
now  handed  in  his  portmanteau  and  mounted  the  shafts. 
'  Who  is  that  lady  in  the  carriage  ? '  he  inquired  in- 
differently of  Lickpan  the  carrier. 

'  That,  sir,  is  Mrs.  Troyton,  a  widder  wi'  a  mint  o' 
*  money.  She's  the  owner  of  all  that  part  of  Endelstow 
that  is  not  Lord  Luxellian's.  Only  been  here  a  short 
time;  she  came  into  it  by  law.  The  owner  formerly 
was  a  terrible  mysterious  party — never  lived  here — 
hardly  ever  was  seen  here  except  in  the  month  of 
September,  as  I  might  say.' 

The  horses  were  started  again,  and  noise  rendered 
further  discourse  a  matter  of  too  great  exertion.  Stephen 
cfept  inside  under  the  tilt,  and  was  soon  lost  in  reverie. 

Three   hours  and  a  half  of  straining   up   hills   and 

jogging  down  brought  them  to  St.  Launce's,  the  market 

town  and  railway  station  nearest  to  Endelstow,  and  the 

place  from  which  Stephen  Smith  had  journeyed  over  the 

117 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

downs  on  the,  to  him,  memorable  winter  evening  at  the 
beginning  of  the  same  year.  The  carrier's  van  was  so 
timed  as  to  meet  a  starting  up-train,  which  Stephen 
entered.  Two  or  three  hours'  railway  travel  through 
vertical  cuttings  in  metamorphic  rock,  through  oak 
copses  rich  and  green,  stretching  over  slopes  and  down 
delightful  valleys,  glens,  and  ravines,  sparkling  with 
water  like  many-rilled  Ida,  and  he  plunged  amid  the 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people  composing  the  town 
of  Plymouth. 

There  being  some  time  upon  his  hands  he  left  his 
luggage  at  the  cloak-room,  and  went  on  foot  along 
Bedford  Street  to  the  nearest  church.  Here  Stephen 
wandered  among  the  multifarious  tombstones  and  looked 
in  at  the  chancel  window,  dreaming  of  something  that 
was  likely  to  happen  by  the  altar  there  in  the  course  of 
the  coming  month.  He  turned  away  and  ascended  the 
Hoe,  viewed  the  magnificent  stretch  of  sea  and  massive 
promontories  of  land,  but  without  particularly  discerning 
one  feature  of  the  varied  perspective.  He  still  saw  that 
inner  prospect — the  event  he  hoped  for  in  yonder 
church.  The  wide  Sound,  the  Breakwater,  the  light- 
house on  far-off  Eddystone,  the  dark  steam  vessels, 
brigs,  barques,  and  schooners,  either  floating  stilly,  or 
gliding  with  tiniest  motion,  were  as  the  dream,  then; 
the  dreamed-of  event  was  as  the  reality. 

Soon  Stephen  went  down  from  the  Hoe,  and  returned 
to  the  railway  station.  He  took  his  ticket,  and  entered 
the  London  train. 

That  day  was  an  irksome  time  at  Endelstow  vicarage. 
Neither  father  nor  daughter  alluded  to  the  departure  of 
Stephen.  Mr.  Swancourt's  manner  towards  her  partook 
of  the  compunctious  kindness  that  arises  from  a  misgiving 
as  to  the  justice  of  some  previous  act. 

Either  from  lack  of  the  capacity  to  grasp  the  whole 
coup  d'ceil,  or  from  a  natural  endowment  for  certain  kinds 
ii8 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  stoicism,  women  are  cooler  than  men  in  critical  situa- 
tions of  the  passive  form.  Probably,  in  Elfride's  case  at 
least,  it  was  bUndness  to  the  greater  contingencies  of  the 
future  she  was  preparing  for  herself,  which  enabled  her 
to  ask  her  father  in  a  quiet  voice  if  he  could  give  her 
a  holiday  soon,  to  ride  to  St.  Launce's  and  go  on  to 
Plymouth. 

Now,  she  had  only  once  before  gone  alone  to  Ply- 
mouth, and  that  was  in  consequence  of  some  unavoid- 
able difficulty.  Being  a  country  girl,  and  a  good,  not 
to  say  a  wild,  horsewoman,  it  had  been  her  delight  to 
canter,  without  the  ghost  of  an  attendant,  over  the  four- 
teen or  sixteen  miles  of  hard  road  intervening  between 
their  home  and  the  station  at  St.  Launce's,  put  up  the 
horse,  and  go  on  the  remainder  of  the  distance  by  train, 
returning  in  the  same  manner  in  the  evening  It  was 
then  resolved  that,  though  she  had  successfully  accom- 
plished this  journey  once,  it  was  not  to  be  repeated 
without  some  attendance. 

But  Elfride  must  not  be  confounded  with  ordinary 
young  feminine  equestrians.  The  circumstances  of  her 
lonely  and  narrow  life  made  it  imperative  that  in  trotting 
about  the  neighbourhood  she  must  trot  alone  or  else 
not  at  all.  Usage  soon  rendered  this  perfectly  natural 
to  herself.  Her  father,  who  had  had  other  experiences, 
did  not  much  Hke  the  idea  of  a  Swancourt,  whose  pedigree 
could  be  as  distinctly  traced  as  a  thread  in  a  skein  of 
silk,  scampering  over  the  hills  like  a  farmer's  daughter, 
even  though  he  could  habitually  neglect  her.  But  what 
with  his  not  being  able  to  afford  her  a  regular  attendant, 
and  his  inveterate  habit  of  letting  anything  be  to  save 
himself  trouble,  the  circumstance  grew  customary.  And 
so  there  arose  a  chronic  notion  in  the  villagers'  minds 
that  all  ladies  rode  without  an  attendant,  like  Miss 
Swancourt,  except  a  few  who  were  sometimes  visiting  at 
Lord  Luxellian's. 

'  I  don't  like  your  going  to  Plymouth  alone,  particu- 
119 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

larly  going  to  St.  Launce's  on  horseback.  Why  not 
drive,  and  take  the  man  ? ' 

'  It  is  not  nice  to  be  so  overlooked.'  Worm's  company 
would  not  seriously  have  interfered  with  her  plans,  but 
it  was  her  humour  to  go  without  him. 

'  When  do  you  want  to  go  ? '  said  her  father 

She  only  answered,  '  Soon.' 

'  I  will  consider,'  he  said. 

Only  a  few  days  elapsed  before  she  asked  again.  A 
letter  had  reached  her  from  Stephen.  It  had  been  timed 
to  come  on  that  day  by  special  arrangement  between 
them.  In  it  he  named  the  earliest  morning  on  which  he 
could  meet  her  at  Plymouth.  Her  father  had  been  on  a 
journey  to  Stratleigh,  and  returned  in  unusual  buoyancy 
of  spirit.  It  was  a  good  opportunity;  and  since  the 
dismissal  of  Stephen  her  father  had  been  generally  in  a 
mood  to  make  small  concessions,  that  he  might  steer 
clear  of  large  ones  connected  with  that  outcast  lover 
of  hers. 

'  Next  Thursday  week  I  am  going  from  home  in  a 
different  direction,'  said  her  father.  '  In  fact,  I  shall 
leave  home  the  night  before.  You  might  choose  the 
same  day,  for  they  wish  to  take  up  the  carpets,  or  some 
such  thing,  I  think.  As  I  said,  I  don't  like  you  to  be 
seen  in  a  town  on  horseback  alone ;  but  go  if  you  will.' 

Thursday  week.  Her  father  had  named  the  very 
day  that  Stephen  also  had  named  that  morning  as  the 
earliest  on  which  it  would  be  of  any  use  to  meet  her ; 
that  was,  about  fifteen  days  from  the  day  on  which  he 
had  left  Endelstow.  Fifteen  days — that  fragment  of  dura- 
tion which  has  acquired  such  an  interesting  individuality 
from  its  connection,  with  the  English  marriage  law. 

She  involuntarily  looked  at  her  father  so  strangely, 
that  on  becoming  conscious  of  the  look  she  paled  with 
embarrassment.  Her  father,  too,  looked  confused.  What 
was  he  thinking  of? 

There  seemed  to  be  a  special  facMity  offered  her  by  a 

120 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

power  external  to  herself  in  the  circumstance  that  Mr. 
Swancourt  had  proposed  to  leave  home  the  night  pre- 
vious to  her  wished-for  day.  Her  father  seldom  took 
long  journeys ;  seldom  slept  from  home  except  perhaps 
on  the  night  following  a  remote  Visitation.  Well,  she 
would  not  inquire  too  curiously  into  the  reason  of  the 
opportunity,  nor  did  he,  as  would  have  been  natural, 
proceed  to  explain  it  of  his  own  accord.  In  matters  of 
fact  there  had  hitherto  been  no  reserve  between  them, 
though  they  were  not  usually  confidential  in  its  full 
sense.  But  the  divergence  of  their  emotions  on 
Stephen's  account  had  produced  an  estrangement  which 
just  at  present  went  even  to  the  extent  of  reticence  on 
the  most  ordinary  household  topics. 

Elfride  was  almost  unconsciously  relieved,  persuad- 
ing herself  that  her  father's  reserve  on  his  business 
justified  her  in  secrecy  as  regarded  her  own — a  secrecy 
which  was  necessarily  a  foregone  decision  with  her. 
So  anxious  is  a  young  conscience  to  discover  a  pallia- 
tive, that  the  ex  post  facto  nature  of  a  reason  is  of  no 
account  in  excluding  it. 

The  intervening  fortnight  was  spent  by  her  mostly 
in  walking  by  herself  among  the  shrubs  and  trees, 
indulging  sometimes  in  sanguine  anticipations ;  more, 
far  more  frequently,  in  misgivings.  All  her  flowers 
seemed  dull  of  hue ;  her  pets  seemed  to  look  wistfully 
into  her  eyes,  as  if  they  no  longer  stood  in  the  same 
friendly,  relation  to  her  as  formerly.  She  wore  melan- 
choly jewellery,  gazed  at  sunsets,  and  talked  to  old  men 
and  women.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  had 
an  inner  and  private  world  apart  from  the  visible  one 
about  her.  She  wished  that  her  father,  instead  of 
neglecting  her  even  more  than  usual,  would  make  some 
advance — ^just  one  word ;  she  would  then  tell  all,  and 
risk  Stephen's  displeasure.  Thus  brought  round  to 
the  youth  again,  she  saw  him  in  her  fancy,  standing, 
touching  her,  his  eyes  full  of  sad  affection,  hopelessly 

I  121 


A   PAIR,  OF   BLUE   EYES 

renouncing  his  attempt  because  she  had  renounced 
hers  ;  and  she  could  not  recede. 

On  the  Wednesday  she  was  to  receive  another  letter. 
She  had  rosolved  to  let  her  father  see  the  arrival  of 
this  one,  be  the  consequences  what  they  might :  the 
dread  of  losing  her  lover  by  this  deed  of  honesty  pre- 
vented her  acting  upon  the  resolve.  Five  minutes 
before  the  postman's  expected  arrival  she  sHpped  out, 
and  down  the  lane  to  meet  him.  She  met  him  immedi- 
ately upon  turning  a  sharp  angle,  which  hid  her  from 
view  in  the  direction  of  the  vicarage.  The  man  smil- 
ingly handed  one  missive,  and  was  going  on  to  hand 
another,  a  circular  from  some  tradesman. 

'  No,'  she  said ;   '  take  that  on  to  the  house.' 

'  Why,  miss,  you  are  doing  what  your  father  has 
done  for  the  last  fortnight.' 

She  did  not  comprehend. 

*  Why,  come  to  this  corner,  and  take  a  letter  of  me 
every  morning,  all  writ  in  the  same  handwriting,  and 
letting  any  others  for  him  go  on  to  the  house.'  And 
on  the  postman  went. 

No  sooner  had  he  turned  the  corner  behind  her 
back  than  she  heard  her  father  meet  and  address  the 
man.  She  had  saved  her  letter  by  two  minutes.  Her 
father  audibly  went  through  precisely  the  same  perform- 
ance as  she  had  just  been  guilty  of  herself. 

This  stealthy  conduct  of  his  was,  to  say  the  least, 
peculiar. 

Given  an  impulsive  inconsequent  girl,  neglected  as 
to  her  inner  Hfe  by  her  only  parent,  and  the  following 
forces  alive  within  her ;  to  determine  a  resultant : 

First  love  acted  upon  by  a  deadly  fear  of  separation 
from  its  object :  inexperience,  guiding  onward  a  frantic 
wish  to  prevent  the  above-named  issue :  misgivings  as 
to  propriety,  met  by  hope  of  ultimate  exoneration : 
indignation  at  parental  inconsistency  in   first   encour- 

122 


A   PAIR  OF    BLUE   EYES 

aging,  then  forbidding  :  a  chilling  sense  of  disobedience, 
overpowered  by  a  conscientious  inability  to  brook  a 
breaking  of  plighted  faith  with  a  man  who,  in  essentials, 
had  remained  unaltered  from  the  beginning :  a  blessed 
hope  that  opposition  would  turn  an  erroneous  judg- 
ment :  a  bright  faith  that  things  would  mend  thereby, 
and  wind  up  well. 

Probably  the  result  would,  after  all,  have  been  nil, 
had  not  the  following  few  remarks  been  made  one  day 
at  breakfast. 

Her  father  was  in  his  old  hearty  spirits.  He  smiled 
to  himself  at  stories  too  bad  to  tell,  and  called  Elfride 
a  little  scamp  for  surreptitiously  preserving  some  blind 
kittens  that  ought  to  have  been  drowned.  After  this 
expression,  she  said  to  him  suddenly : 

'  If  Mr.  Smith  had  been  already  in  the  family,  you 
would  not  have  been  made  wretched  by  discovering 
he  had  poor  relations  ?  ' 

'  Do  you  mean  in  the  family  by  marriage  ? '  he 
replied  inattentively,  and  continuing  to  peel  his  egg. 

The  accumulating  scarlet  told  that  was  her  meaning, 
as  much  as  the  affirmative  reply. 

'  I  should  have  put  up  with  it,  no  doubt,'  Mr. 
Swancourt  observed. 

*  So  that  you  would  not  have  been  driven  into  hope- 
less melancholy,  but  have  made  the  best  of  him  ?  ' 

Elfride's  erratic  mind  had  from  her  youth  upwards 
been  constantly  in  the  habit  of  perplexing  her  father 
by  hypothetical  questions,  based  on  absurd  conditions. 
The  present  seemed  to  be  cast  so  precisely  in  the 
mould  of  previous  ones  that,  not  being  given  to  syn- 
theses of  circumstances,  he  answered  it  with  customary 
complacency. 

'  If  he  were  allied  to  us  irretrievably,  of  course  I, 

or    any   sensible   man,    should    accept   conditions    that 

could    not    be    altered ;    certainly    not    be    hopelessly 

melancholy  about  it.     I  don't  believe  anything  in  the 

123 


\ 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

world  would  make  me  hopelessly  melancholy.  And 
don't  let  anything  make  you  so,  either.' 

'  I  won't,  papa,'  she  cried,  with  a  serene  brightness 
that  pleased  him. 

Certainly  Mr.  Swancourt  must  have  been  far  from 
thinking  that  the  brightness  came  from  an  exhilarating 
intention  to  hold  back  no  longer  from  the  mad  action 
she  had  planned. 

In  the  evening  he  drove  away  towards  Stratleigh, 
quite  alone.  It  was  an  unusual  course  for  him.  At 
the  door  Elfride  had  been  again  almost  impelled  by 
her  feeUngs  to  pour  out  all. 

'  Why  are  you  going  to  Stratleigh,  papa  ? '  she  said, 
and  looked  at  him  longingly. 

'  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow  when  I  come  back,'  he 
said  cheerily ;  '  not  before  then,  Elfride.  Thou  wilt 
not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know,  and  so  far  will 
I  trust  thee,  gentle  Elfride.' 

She  was  repressed  and  hurt. 

*  I  will  tell  you  my  errand  to  Plymouth,  too,  when 
I  come  back,'  she  murmured. 

He  went  away.  His  jocularity  made  her  intention 
seem  the  lighter,  as  his  indifference  made  her  more 
resolved  to  do  as  she  hked. 

It  was  a  familiar  September  sunset,  dark-blue  frag- 
ments of  cloud  upon  an  orange-yellow  sky.  These 
sunsets  used  to  tempt  her  to  walk  towards  them,  as 
any  beautiful  thing  tempts  a  near  approach.  She  went 
through  the  field  to  the  privet  hedge,  clambered  into 
the  middle  of  it,  and  reclined  upon  the  thick  boughs. 
After  looking  westward  for  a  considerable  time,  she 
blamed  herself  for  not  looking  eastward  to  where 
Stephen  was,  and  turned  round.  Ultimately  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  ground. 

A  peculiarity  was  observable  beneath  her.  A  green 
field  spread  itself  on  each  side  of  the  hedge,  one  be- 
longing to  the  glebe,  the  other  being  a  part  of  the  land 
124 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

attached  to  the  manor-house  adjoining.  On  the  vicar- 
age side  she  saw  a  little  footpath,  the  distinctive  and 
altogether  exceptional  feature  of  which  consisted  in 
its  being  only  about  ten  yards  long;  it  terminated 
abruptly  at  each  end. 

A  footpath,  suddenly  beginning  and  suddenly  end- 
ing, coming  from  nowhere  and  leading  nowhere,  she 
had  never  seen  before. 

Yes,  she  had,  on  second  thoughts.  She  had  seen 
exactly  such  a  path  trodden  in  the  front  of  barracks 
by  the  sentry. 

And  this  recollection  explained  the  origin  of  the 
path  here.  Her  father  had  trodden  it  by  pacing  up 
and  down,  as  she  had  once  seen  him  doing. 

Sitting  on  the  hedge  as  she  sat  now,  her  eyes 
commanded  a  view  of  both  sides  of  it.  And  a  few 
minutes  later,  Elfride  looked  over  to  the  manor  side. 

Here  was  another  sentry  path.  It  was  like  the 
first  in  length,  and  it  began  and  ended  exactly  opposite 
the  beginning  and  ending  of  its  neighbour,  but  it  was 
thinner,  and  less  distinct. 

Two  reasons  existed  for  the  difference.  This  one 
might  have  been  trodden  by  a  similar  weight  of  tread  to 
the  other,  exercised  a  less  number  of  times ;  or  it  might 
have  been  walked  just  as  frequently,  but  by  lighter  feet. 

Probably  a  gentleman  from  Scotland-yard,  had  he 
been  passing  at  the  time,  might  have  considered  the 
latter  alternative  as  the  more  probable.  Elfride  thought 
otherwise,  so  far  as  she  thought  at  all.  But  her  own 
great  To-Morrow  was  now  imminent;  all  thoughts  in- 
spired by  casual  sights  of  the  eye  were  only  allowed  to 
exercise  themselves  in  inferior  corners  of  her  brain, 
previously  to  being  banished  altogether. 

Elfride  was  at  length  compelled  to  reason  practically 
upon   her   undertaking.       All  her   definite   perceptions 
thereon,   when    the    emotion    accompanying   them   was 
abstracted,  amounted  to  no  more  than  these : 
1^5 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Say  an  hour  and  three-quarters  to  ride  to  St. 
Launce's. 

*  Say  half  an  hour  at  the  Falcon  to  change  my 
dress. 

'  Say  two  hours  waiting  for  some  train  and  getting  to 
Plymouth. 

'  Say  an  hour  to  spare  before  twelve  o'clock. 

*  Total  time  from  leaving  Endelstow  till  twelve  o'clock, 
five  hours. 

'  Therefore  I  shall  have  to  start  at  seven.' 

No  surprise  or  sense  of  unwontedness  entered  the 
minds  of  the  servants  at  her  early  ride.  The  monotony 
of  Hfe  we  associate  with  people  of  small  incomes  in 
districts  out  of  the  sound  of  the  railway  whistle,  has 
one  exception,  which  puts  into  shade  the  experience  of 
dwellers  about  the  great  centres  of  population — that  is, 
in  travelling.  Every  journey  there  is  more  or  less  an 
adventure;  adventurous  hours  are  necessarily  chosen 
for  the  most  commonplace  outing.  Miss  Elfride  had 
to  leave  early — that  was  all. 

Elfride  never  went  out  on  horseback  but  she  brought 
home  something  —  something  found,  or  something 
bought.  If  she  trotted  to  town  or  village,  her  burden 
was  books.  If  to  hills,  woods,  or  the  seashore,  it  was 
wonderful  mosses,  abnormal  twigs,  a  handkerchief  of 
wet  shells  or  seaweed. 

Once,  in  muddy  weather,  when  Pansy  was  walking 
with  her  down  the  street  of  Castle  Boterel,  on  a  fair- 
day,  a  packet  in  front  of  her  and  a  packet  under  her 
arm,  an  accident  befell  the  packets,  and  they  slipped 
down.  On  one  side  of  her,  three  volumes  of  fiction  lay 
kissing  the  mud ;  on  the  other  numerous  skeins  of  poly- 
chromatic wools  lay  absorbing  it.  Unpleasant  women 
smiled  through  windows  at  the  mishap,  the  men  all 
looked  round,  and  a  boy,  who  was  minding  a  ginger- 
bread stall  whilst  the  owner  had  gone  to  get  drunk, 
126 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

laughed  loudly.  The  blue  eyes  turned  to  sapphires, 
and  the  cheeks  crimsoned  with  vexation./ 

After  that  misadventure  she  set  her  wits  to  work, 
and  was  ingenious  enough  to  invent  an  arrangement  of 
small  straps  about  the  saddle,  by  which  a  great  deal 
could  be  safely  carried  thereon,  in  a  small  compass. 
Here  she  now  spread  out  and  fastened  a  plain  dark 
walking-dress  and  a  few  other  trifles  of  apparel.  Worm 
opened  the  gate  for  her,  and  she  vanished  away. 

One  of  the  brightest  mornings  of  late  summer  shone 
upon  her.  The  heather  was  at  its  purplest,  the  furze 
at  its  yellowest,  the  grasshoppers  chirped  loud  enough 
for  birds,  the  snakes  hissed  like  little  engines,  and 
Elfride  at  first  felt  lively.  Sitting  at  ease  upon  Pansy, 
in  her  orthodox  riding-habit  and  nondescript  hat,  she 
looked  what  she  felt.  But  the  mercury  of  those  days 
had  a  trick  of  falling  unexpectedly.  First,  only  for  one 
minute  in  ten  had  she  a  sense  of  depression.  Then  a 
large  cloud,  that  had  been  hanging  in  the  north  like  a 
black  fleece,  came  and  placed  itself  between  her  and 
the  sun.  It  helped  on  what  was  already  inevitable,  and 
she  sank  into  a  uniformity  of  sadness. 

She  turned  in  the  saddle  and  looked  back.  They 
were  now  on  an  open  table-land,  whose  altitude  still 
gave  her  a  view  of  the  sea  by  Endelstow.  She  looked 
longingly  at  that  spot. 

During  this  little  revulsion  of  feeling  Pansy  had 
been  still  advancing,  and  Elfride  felt  it  would  be  absurd 
to  turn  her  little  mare's  head  the  other  way.  *  Still,' 
she  thought,  '  if  I  had  a  mamma  at  home  I  would  go 
back ! ' 

And  making  one  of  those  stealthy  movements  by 
which  women  let  their  hearts  juggle  with  their  brains, 
she  did  put  the  horse's  head  about,  as  if  unconsciously, 
and  went  at  a  hand-gallop  towards  home  for  more  than 
a  mile.  By  this  time,  from  the  inveterate  habit  of 
valuing  what  we  have  renounced  directly  the  alternative 
127 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

is  chosen,  the  thought  of  her  forsaken  Stephen  recalled 
her,  and  she  turned  about,  and  cantered  on  to  St. 
Launce's  again. 

This  miserable  strife  of  thought  now  began  to  rage 
in  all  its  wildness.  Overwrought  and  trembling,  she 
dropped  the  rein  upon  Pansy's  shoulders,  and  vowed 
she  would  be  led  whither  the  horse  would  take  her. 

Pansy  slackened  her  pace  to  a  walk,  and  walked  on 
with  her  agitated  burden  for  three  or  four  minutes. 
At  the  expiration  of  this  time  they  had  come  to  a 
little  by-way  on  the  right,  leading  down  a  slope  to  a 
pool  of  water.  The  pony  stopped,  looked  towards  the 
pool,  and  then  advanced  and  stooped  to  drink. 

Elfride  looked  at  her  watch  and  discovered  that  if 
she  were  going  to  reach  St.  Launce's  early  enough  to 
change  her  dress  at  the  Falcon,  and  get  a  chance  of 
some  early  train  to  Plymouth — there  were  only  two 
available — it  was  necessary  to  proceed  at  once. 

She  was  impatient.  It  seemed  as  if  Pansy  would 
never  stop  drinking ;  and  the  repose  of  the  pool,  the 
idle  motions  of  the  insects  and  flies  upon  it,  the  placid 
waving  of  the  flags,  the  leaf-skeletons,  like  Genoese  fili- 
gree, placidly  sleeping  at  the  bottom,  by  their  contrast 
with  her  own  turmoil  made  her  impatience  greater. 

Pansy  did  turn  at  last,  and  went  up  the  slope  again  to 
the  high-road.  The  pony  came  upon  it,  and  stood  cross- 
wise, looking  up  and  down.  Elfride's  heart  throbbed 
erratically,  and  she  thought,  '  Horses,  if  left  to  them- 
selves, make  for  where  they  are  best  fed.  Pansy  will 
go  home.' 

Pansy  turned  and  walked  on  towards  St.  Launce's 

Pansy  at  home,  during  summer,  had  little  but  grass 
to  Hve  on.  After  a  run  to  St.  Launce's  she  always  had 
a  feed  of  corn  to  support  her  on  the  return  journey. 
Therefore,  being  now  more  than  half  way,  she  preferred 
St.  Launce's. 

But  Elfride  did  not  remember  this  now.  All  she 
128 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

cared  to  recognize  was  a  dreamy  fancy  that  to-day's  rash 
action  was  not  her  own.  She  was  disabled  by  her 
moods,  and  it  seemed  indispensable  to  adhere  to  the 
programme.  So  strangely  involved  are  motives  that, 
more  than  by  her  promise  to  Stephen,  more  even 
than  by  her  love,  she  was  forced  on  by  a  sense  of  the 
necessity  of  keeping  faith  with  herself,  as  promised  in 
the  inane  vow  of  ten  minutes  ago. 

She  hesitated  no  longer.  Pansy  went,  like  the  steed 
of  Adonis,  as  if  she  told  the  steps.  Presently  the  quaint 
gables  and  jumbled  roofs  of  St.  Launce's  were  spread 
beneath  her,  and  going  down  the  hill  she  entered  the 
courtyard  of  the  Falcon.  Mrs.  Buckle,  the  landlady, 
came  to  the  door  to  meet  her. 

The  Swancourts  were  well  known  here.  The  transi- 
tion from  equestrian  to  the  ordinary  guise  of  railway 
travellers  had  been  more  than  once  performed  by  father 
and  daughter  in  this  establishment. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Elfride  emerged 
from  the  door  in  her  walking  dress,  and  went  to  the 
railway.  She  had  not  told  Mrs.  Buckle  anything  as  to 
her  intentions,  and  was  supposed  to  have  gone  out 
shopping. 

An  hour  and  forty  minutes  later,  and  she  was  in 
Stephen's  arms  at  the  Plymouth  station.  Not  upon 
the  platform — in  the  secret  retreat  of  a  deserted 
waiting-room. 

Stephen's  face  boded  ill.  He  was  pale  and  de- 
spondent. 

*  What  is  the  matter  ?  '  she  asked. 

'We  cannot  be  married  here  to-day,  my  Elfie !  I 
ought  to  have  known  it  and  stayed  here.  In  my 
ignorance  I  did  not.  I  have  the  licence,  but  it  can 
only  be  used  in  my  parish  in  London.  I  only  came 
down  last  night,  as  you  know.' 

'  Whsit  shall  we  do  ?  '  she  said  blankly. 

*  There's  only  one  thing  we  can  do,  darling.' 

129  "^  I 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

What's  that  ?  ' 

'  Go  on  to  London  by  a  train  just  starting,  and  be 
married  there  to-morrow.' 

*  Passengers  for  the  11.5  up-train  take  their  seats  ! ' 
said  a  guard's  voice  on  the  platform 

'Will  you  go,  Elfride?' 

'  I  will.' 

In  three  minutes  the  train  had  moved  off,  bearing 
away  with  it  Stephen  and  Elfride. 


XII 

•Adieu!  she  cries,  and  waved  her  lily  hand.' 

1  HE  few  tattered  clouds  of  the  morning  enlarged  and 
united,  the  sun  withdrew  behind  them  to  emerge  no 
more  that  day,  and  the  evening  drew  to  a  close  in  drifts 
of  rain.  The  water-drops  beat  like  duck  shot  against 
the  window  of  the  railway-carriage  containing  Stephen 
and  Elfride. 

The  journey  from  Plymouth  to  Paddington,  by  even 
the  most  headlong  express,  allows  quite  enough  leisure 
for  passion  of  any  sort  to  cool.  Elfride's  excitement 
had  passed  off,  and  she  sat  in  a  kind  of  stupor  during 
the  latter  half  of  the  journey.  She  was  aroused  by  the 
clanging  of  the  maze  of  rails  over  which  they  traced 
their  way  at  the  entrance  to  the  station. 

'  Is  this  London  ?  '  she  said. 

'  Yes,  darling,'  said  Stephen  in  a  tone  of  assurance 
he  was  far  from  feeling.  To  him,  no  less  than  to  her, 
the  reality  so  greatly  differed  from  the  prefiguring. 

She  peered  out  as  well  as  the  window,  beaded  with 
drops,  would  allow  her,  and  saw  only  the  lamps,  which 
had  just  been  lit,  bUnking  in  the  wet  atmosphere,  and 
rows  of  hideous  zinc  chimney-pipes  in  dim  relief  against 
the  sky.  She  writhed  uneasily,  as  when  a  thought  is 
131 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

swelling  in  the  mind  which  must  cause  much  pain  at 
its  deliverance  in  words.  Elfride  had  known  no  more 
about  the  stings  of  evil  report  than  the  native  wild-fowl 
knew  of  the  eifects  of  Crusoe's  first  shot.  Now  she 
saw  a  little  further,  and  a  little  further  still. 

The  train  stopped.  Stephen  relinquished  the  soft 
hand  he  had  held  all  the  day,  and  proceeded  to  assist 
her  on  to  the  platform. 

This  act  of  alighting  upon  strange  ground  seemed 
all  that  was  wanted  to  complete  a  resolution  within 
her. 

She  looked  at  her  betrothed  with  despairing  eyes. 

'  O  Stephen,'  she  exclaimed,  '  I  am  so  miserable !  I 
must  go  home  again — I  must — I  must !  Forgive  my 
wretched  vacillation.  I  don't  like  it  here — nor  myself 
— nor  you  !  ' 

Stephen  looked  bewildered,  and  did  not  speak. 

'  Will  you  allow  me  to  go  home  ? '  she  implored. 
*  I  won't  trouble  you  to  go  with  me.  I  will  not  be  any 
weight  upon  you;  only  say  you  will  agree  to  my  re- 
turning ;  that  you  will  not  hate  me  for  it,  Stephen  ! 
It  is  better  that  I  should  return  again ;  indeed  it  is, 
Stephen.' 

'  But  we  can't  return  now,'  he  said  in  a  deprecatory 
tone. 

'  I  must !     I  will ! ' 

'  How  ?     When  do  you  want  to  go  ?  '  * 

'  Now.     Can  we  go  at  once  ?  ' 

The  lad  looked  hopelessly  along  the  platform. 

'  If  you  must  go,  and  think  it  wrong  to  remain, 
dearest,'  said  he  sadly,  '  you  shall.  You  shall  do  what- 
ever you  like,  my  Elfride.  ,But  would  you  in  reality 
rather  go  now  than  stay  till  to-morrow,  and  go  as  my 
wife  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes — much — anything  to  go  now.  I  must ;  I 
must !  '  she  cried. 

'  We  ought  to  have  done  one  of  two  things,'  he 
132 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

answered  gloomily.  '  Never  to  have  started,  or  not  to 
have  returned  without  being  married.  I  don't  like  to 
say  it,  Elfride — indeed  I  don't;  but  you  must  be  told 
this,  that  going  back  unmarried  may  compromise  your 
good  name  in  the  eyes  of  people  who  may  hear  of  it.' 

*  They  will  not  ;  and  I  must  go.' 

*  O  Elfride !  I  am  to  blame  for  bringing  you  away.' 
'  Not  at  all.     I  am  the  elder.' 

*  By  a  month ;  and  what's  that  ?  But  never  mind 
that  now.'  He  looked  around.  '  Is  there  a  train  for 
Plymouth  to-night?'  he  inquired  of  a  guard.  The 
guard  passed  on  and  did  not  speak. 

'  Is  there  a  train  for  Plymouth  to-night  ?  '  said  Elfride 
to  another. 

*Yes,  miss;  the  8.10 — leaves  in  ten  minutes.  You 
have  come  to  the  wrong  platform ;  it  is  the  other  side. 
Change  at  Bristol  into  the  night  mail.  Down  that  stain 
case,  and  under  the  line.' 

They  ran  down  the  staircase — Elfride  first — to  the 
booking-office,  and  into  a  carriage  with  an  official  stand- 
ing beside  the  door.  *  Show  your  tickets,  please.'  They 
are  locked  in — men  about  the  platform  accelerate  their 
velocities  till  they  fly  up  and  down  Hke  shuttles  in  a 
loom — a  whistle — the  waving  of  a  flag — a  human  cry — 
a  steam  groan — and  away  they  go  to  Plymouth  again, 
just  catching  these  words  as  they  glide  off: 

'  Those  two  youngsters  had  a  near  run  for  it,  and  no 
mistake ! ' 

Elfride  found  her  breath. 

'  And  have  you  come  too,  Stephen  ?    Why  did  you  ?  ' 

'  I  shall  not  leave  you  till  I  see  you  safe  at  St. 
Launce's.  Do  not  think  worse  of  me  than  I  am, 
Elfride.' 

And  then  they  rattled  along  through  the  night,  back 
again  by  the  way  they  had  come.     The  weather  cleared,  ] 
and  the  stars  shone  in  upon  them.     Their  two  or  three 
fellow-passengers  sat  for  most  of  the  time  with  closed 
^33 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

eyes.     Stephen    sometimes    slept;    Elfride    alone    was 
wakeful  and  palpitating  hour  after  hour. 

The  day  began  to  break,  and  revealed  that  they  were 
by  the  sea.  Red  rocks  overhung  them,  and,  receding 
into  distance,  grew  livid  in  the  blue  grey  atmosphere. 
The  sun  rose,  and  sent  penetrating  shafts  of  light  in 
upon  their  weary  faces.  Another  hour,  and  the  world 
began  to  be  busy.  They  waited  yet  a  little,  and  the 
train  slackened  its  speed  in  view  of  the  platform  at 
St.  Launce's. 

She  shivered,  and  mused  sadly. 

'  I  did  not  see  all  the  consequences,'  she  said. 
*  Appearances  are  wofully  against  me.  If  anybody  finds 
me  out,  I  am,  I  suppose,  disgraced.' 

'  Then  appearances  will  speak  falsely ;  and  how  can 
that  matter,  even  if  they  do  ?  I  shall  be  your  husband 
sooner  or  later,  for  certain,  and  so  prove  your  purity.' 

'  Stephen,  once  in  London  I  ought  to  have  married 
you,'  she  said  firmly.  '  It  was  my  only  safe  defence.  I 
see  more  things  now  than  I  did  yesterday.  My  only 
remaining  chance  is  not  to  be  discovered ;  and  that  we 
must  fight  for  most  desperately.' 

They  stepped  out.  Elfride  pulled  a  thick  veil  over 
her  face. 

A  woman  with  red  and  scaly  eyelids  and  glistening 
eyes  was  sitting  on  a  bench  just  inside  the  office-door. 
She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  Elfride  with  an  expression 
whose  force  it  was  impossible  to  doubt,  but  the  meaning 
of  which  was  not  clear ;  then  upon  the  carriage  they  had 
left.     She  seemed  to  read  a  sinister  story  in  the  scene. 

Elfride  shrank  back,  and  turned  the  other  way. 

'  Who  is  that  woman  ?  '  said  Stephen.  '  She  looked 
hard  at  you.' 

*  Mrs.  Jethway — a  widow,  and  mother  of  that  young 
man  whose  tomb  we  sat  on  the  other  night.     Stephen, 
she  is   my  enemy.     Would  that  God  had   had  mercy 
enough  upon  me  to  have  hidden  this  from  ker  ! ' 
^34 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

*  Do  not  talk  so  hopelessly/  he  remonstrated.  *  I 
don't  think  she  recognized  us.' 

'  I  pray  that  she  did  not.' 

He  put  on  a  more  vigorous  mood. 

'  Now,  we  will  go  and  get  some  breakfast.' 

'  No,  no  ! '  she  begged.  '  I  cannot  eat.  I  must  get 
back  to  Endelstow.' 

Elfride  was  as  if  she  had  grown  years  older  than 
Stephen  now. 

'  But  you  have  had  nothing  since  last  night  but  that 
cup  of  tea  at  Bristol.' 

*  I  can't  eat,  Stephen.' 
'  Wine  and  biscuit  ?  ' 
*No.' 

'  Nor  tea,  nor  coffee  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  A  glass  of  water  ?  ' 

'  No.  I  want  something  that  makes  people  strong 
and  energetic  for  the  present,  that  borrows  the  strength 
of  to-morrow  for  use  to-day — leaving  to-morrow  without 
any  at  all  for  that  matter ;  or  even  that  would  take  all 
life  away  to-m.orrow,  so  long  as  it  enabled  me  to  get 
home  again  now.  Brandy,  that's  what  I  want.  That 
woman's  eyes  have  eaten  my  heart  away ! ' 

'  You  are  wild ;  and  you  grieve  me,  darling.  Must 
it  be  brandy  ? ' 

'  Yes,  if  you  please.*  0% 

'  How  much  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  drunk  more  than  a 
teaspoonful  at  once.  All  I  know  is  that  I  want  it. 
Don't  get  it  at  the  Falcon.' 

He  left  her  in  the  fields,  and  went  to  the  nearest 
inn  in  that  direction.  Presently  he  returned  with  a 
small  flask  nearly  full,  and  some  slices  of  bread-and- 
butter,  thin  as  wafers,  in  a  paper-bag.  Elfride  took  a 
sip  or  two. 

*  It  goes  into  my  eyes,'  she  said  wearily.     '  I  can't 

135 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

take  any  more.  Yes,  I  will ;  I  will  close  my  eyes. 
Ah,  it  goes  to  them  by  an  inside  route.  I  don't  want 
it ;  throw  it  away.' 

However,  she  could  eat,  and  did  eat.  Her  chief 
attention  was  concentrated  upon  how  to  get  the  horse 
from  the  Falcon  stables  without  suspicion.  Stephen 
was  not  allowed^  to  accompany  her  into  the  town. 
She  acted  now  upon  conclusions  reached  without  any 
aid  from  him :  his  power  over  her  seemed  to  have 
departed. 

'  You  had  better  not  be  seen  with  me,  even  here 
where  I  am  so  little  known.  We  have  begun  stealthily 
as  thieves,  and  we  must  end  stealthily  as  thieves,  at 
all  hazards.  Until  papa  has  been  told  by  me  myself, 
a  discovery  would  be  terrible.' 

Walking  and  gloomily  talking  thus  they  waited  till 
nearly  nine  o'clock,  at  which  time  Elfride  thought 
she  might  call  at  the  Falcon  without  creating  much 
surprise.  Behind  the  railway-station  was  the  river, 
spanned  by  an  old  Tudor  bridge,  whence  the  road 
diverged  in  two  directions,  one  skirting  the  suburbs 
of  the  town,  and  winding  round  again  into  the  high- 
road to  Endelstow.  Beside  this  road  Stephen  sat,  and 
awaited  her  return  from  the  Falcon. 

He  sat  as  one  sitting  for  a  portrait,  motionless, 
watching  the  chequered  lights  and  shades  on  the  tree- 
trunks,  the  children  playing  opposite  the  school  pre- 
vious to  entering  for  the  morning  lesson,  the  reapers 
in  a  field  afar  off.  The  certainty  of  possession  had  not 
come,  and  there  was  nothing  to  mitigate  the  youth's 
gloom,  that  increased  with  the  thought  of  the  parting 
now  so  near. 

At  length  she  came  trotting  round  to  him,  in 
appearance  much  as  on  the  romantic  morning  of  their 
visit  to  the  cliff,  but  shorn  of  the  radiance  which 
glistened  about  her  then.  However,  her  compara- 
tive immunity  from  further  risk  and  trouble  had  con- 
136 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

siderably  composed  her.  Elfride's  capacity  for  being 
wounded  was  only  surpassed  by  her  capacity  for  heal- 
ing, which  rightly  or  wrongly  is  by  some  considered 
an  index  of  transientness  of  feeling  in  general. 

'  Elfride,  what  did  they  say  at  the  Falcon  ? ' 

'  Nothing.  Nobody  seemed  curious  about  me. 
They  knew  I  went  to  Plymouth,  and  I  have  stayed 
there  a  night  now  and  then  with  *Miss  Bicknell.  I 
rather  calculated  upon  that.' 

And  now  parting  arose  like  a  death  to  these  chil- 
dren, for  it  was  imperative  that  she  should  ctart  at 
once.  Stephen  walked  beside  her  for  nearly  a  mile. 
During  the  walk  he  said  sadly : 

'  Elfride,  four-and-twenty  hours  have  passed,  and 
the  thing  is  not  done.' 

'  But  you  have  insured  that  it  shall  be  done.' 

'  How  have  I  ?  ' 

'  O  Stephen,  you  ask  how !  Do  you  think  I  could 
marry  another  man  on  earth  after  having  gone  thus 
far  with  you  ?  Have  I  not  shown  beyond  possibility 
of  doubt  that  I  can  be  nobody  else's  ?  Have  I  not 
irretrievably  committed  myself? — pride  has  stood  for 
nothing  in  the  face  of  my  great  love.  You  misunder- 
stood my  turning  back,  and  I  cannot  explain  it.  It 
was  wrong  to  go  with  you  at  all ;  and  though  it  would 
have  been  worse  to  go  further,  it  would  have  been 
better  policy,  perhaps.  Be  assured  of  this,  that  when- 
ever you  have  a  home  for  me — however  poor  and 
humble — and  come  and  claim  me,  I  am  ready.'  She 
added  bitterly,  '  When  my  father  knows  of  this  day's 
work,  he  may  be  only  too  glad  to  let  me  go.' 

*  Perhaps  he  may,  then,  insist  upon  our  marriage 
at  once ! '  Stephen  answered,  seeing  a  ray  of  hope  in 
the  very  focus  of  her  remorse.  *  I  hope  he  may,  even 
if  we  had  still  to  part  till  I  am  ready  for  you,  as  we 
intended.' 

Elfride  did  not  reply. 
»  137 


f 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

'You  don't  seem  the  same  woman,  Elfie,  that  you 
were  yesterday.' 

'  Nor  am  I.  But  good-bye.  Go  back  now.'  And 
she  reined  the  horse  for  parting.  '  O  Stephen,'  she 
cried,  '  I  feel  so  weak !  I  don't  know  how  to  meet 
him.     Cannot  you,  after  all,  come  back  with  me  ?  ' 

«  Shall  I  come  ?  ' 

Elfride  paused  to  think. 

'  No ;  it  will  not  do.  It  is  my  utter  foolishness 
that  makes  me  say  such  words.  But  he  will  send 
for  you.' 

'  Say  to  him,'  continued  Stephen,  *  that  we  did  this 
in  the  absolute  despair  of  our  minds.  Tell  him  we 
don't  wish  him  to  favour  us — only  to  deal  justly  with 
us.  If  he  says,  marry  now,  so  much  the  better.  If 
not,  say  that  all  may  be  put  right  by  his  promise  to 
allow  me  to  have  you  when  I  am  good  enough  for 
you — which  may  be  soon.  Say  I  have  nothing  to 
offer  him  in  exchange  for  his  treasure — the  more  sorry 
I ;  but  all  the  love,  and  all  the  life,  and  all  the  labour 
of  an  honest  man  shall  be  yours.  As  to  when  this 
had  better  be  told,  I  leave  you  to  judge.' 

His  words  made  her  cheerful  enough  to  toy  with  her 
position. 

'  And  if  ill  report  should  come,  Stephen,'  she  said 
smiling,  '  why,  the  orange-tree  must  save  me,  as  it  saved 
virgins  in  St.  George's  time  from  the  poisonous  breath 
of  the  dragon.  There,  forgive  me  for  forwardness  :  I 
am  going.' 

Then  the  boy  and  girl  beguiled  themselves  with 
words  of  half-parting  only. 

'  Own  wifie,  God  bless  you  till  we  meet  again !  ' 

'  Till  we  meet  again,  good-bye  ! ' 

And  the  pony  went  on,  and  she  spoke  to  him  no 
more.  He  saw  her  figure  diminish  and  her  blue  veil 
grow  gray — saw  it  with  the  agonizing  sensations  of  a 
slow  death. 

138 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

After  thus  parting  from  a  man  than  whom  she  had 
known  none  greater  as  yet,  Elfride  rode  rapidly  onwards, 
a  tear  being  occasionally  shaken  from  her  eyes  into  the 
road.  What  yesterday  had  seemed  so  desirable,  so 
promising,  even  trifling,  had  now  acquired  the  com- 
plexion of  a  tragedy. 

She  saw  the  rocks  and  sea  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Endelstow,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

When  she  passed  a  field  behind  the  vicarage  she 
heard  the  voices  of  Unity  and  William  Worm,  They 
were  hanging  a  carpet  upon  a  line.  Unity  was  uttering  a 
sentence  that  concluded  with  *  when  Miss  Elfride  comes.' 

'  When  d'ye  expect  her  ?  ' 

*  Not  till  evening  now.  She's  safe  enough  at  Miss 
Bicknell's,  bless  ye.' 

Elfride  went  round  to  the  door.  She  did  not  knock 
or  ring ;  and  seeing  nobody  to  take  the  horse,  Elfride 
led  her  round  to  the  yard,  slipped  off  the  bridle  and 
saddle,  drove  her  towards  the  paddock,  and  turned  her 
in.  Then  Elfride  crept  indoors,  and  looked  into  all  the 
ground-floor  rooms.     Her  father  was  not  there. 

On  the  mantelpiece  of  the  drawing-room  stood  a 
letter  addressed  to  her  in  his  handwriting.  She  took  it 
and  read  it  as  she  went  upstairs  to  change  her  habit. 

'Stratleigh,  Thursday. 
'  Dear  Elfride, — On  second  thoughts  I  will  not 
return   to-day,   biit    only   come    as    far  as   Wadcombe. 
T  shall  be  at  home   by  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  bring 
a  friend  with  me. — Yours,  in  haste,  C.  S.' 

After  making  a  quick  toilet  she  felt  more  revived, 
though  still  suffering  from  a  headache.  On  going  out 
of  the  door  she  met  Unity  at  the  top  of  the  stair. 

'  O  Miss  Elfride  !      I  said  to  myself  'tis  her  sperrit ! 
We  didn't  dream  o'  you  not  coming  home  last  night. 
You  didn't  say  anything  about  staying.' 
139 


A   PAIR    OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  I  intended  to  come  home  the  same  evening,  but 
altered  my  plan.  I  wished  I  hadn't  afterwards.  Papa 
will  be  angry,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  Better  not  tell  him,  miss,'  said  Unity. 

'  I  do  fear  to,'  she  murmured.  '  Unity,  would  you 
just  begin  telling  him  when  he  comes  home  ? ' 

'  What !  and  get  you  into  trouble  ?  ' 

'  I  deserve  it.' 

*  No,  indeed,  I  won't,'  said  Unity.  '  It  is  not  such 
a  mighty  matter,  Miss  Elfride.  I  says  to  myself, 
master's  taking  a  hoUerday,  and  because  he's  not  been 
kind  lately  to  Miss  Elfride,  she ' 

'  Is  imitating  him.  Well,  do  as  you  like.  And  will 
you  now  bring  me  some  luncheon  ? ' 

After  satisfying  an  appetite  which  the  fresh  marine 
air  had  given  her  in  its  victory  over  an  agitated  mind, 
she  put  on  her  hat  and  went  to  the  garden  and  summer- 
house.  She  sat  down,  and  leant  with  her  head  in  a 
corner.      Here  she  fell  asleep. 

Half-awake,  she  hurriedly  looked  at  the  time.  She 
had  been  there  three  hours.  At  the  same  moment  she 
heard  the  outer  gate  swing  together,  and  wheels  sweep 
round  the  entrance;  some  prior  noise  from  the  same 
source  having  probably  been  the  cause  of  her  awaking. 
Next  her  father's  voice  was  heard  calling  to  Worm. 

Elfride  passed  along  a  walk  towards  the  house 
behind  a  belt  of  shrubs.  She  heard  a  tongue  holding 
converse  with  her  father,  which  was  not  that"  of  either 
of  the  servants.  Her  father  and  the  stranger  were 
laughing  together.  Then  there  was  a  rustling  of  silk, 
and  Mr.  Swancourt  and  his  companion,  or  companions, 
to  all  seeming  entered  the  door  of  the  house,  for 
nothing  more  of  them  was  audible.  Elfride  had  turned 
back  to  meditate  on  what  friends  these  could  be,  when 
she  heard  footsteps,  and  her  father  exclaiming  behind 
her : 

*  O  Elfride,  here  you  are  !     I  hope  you  got  on  well  ? ' 

140 


A    PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

Elfride's  heart  smote  her,  and  she  did  not  speak. 

'  Come  back  to  the  summer-house  a  minute/  con- 
tinued Mr.  Swancourt ;  '  I  have  to  tell  you  of  that  I 
promised  to.' 

They  entered  the  summer-house,  and  stood  leaning 
over  the  knotty  woodwork  of  the  balustrade. 

'  Now,'  said  her  father  radiantly,  '  guess  what  I  have 
to  say.'  He  seemed  to  be  regarding  his  own  existence 
so  intently,  that  he  took  no  interest  in  nor  even  saw 
the  complexion  of  hers. 

'  I  cannot,  papa,'  she  said  sadly. 

'  Try,  dear.' 

'  I  would  rather  not,  indeed.' 

'  You  are  tired.  You  look  worn.  The  ride  was  too 
much  for  you.  Well,  this  is  what  I  went  away  for. 
I  went  to  be  married  ! ' 

'  Married ! '  she  faltered,  and  could  hardly  check  an 
involuntary  *  So  did  I.'  A  moment  after  and  her  re- 
solve to  confess  perished  like  a  bubble. 

'  Yes ;  to  whom  do  you  think  ?  Mrs.  Troyton,  the 
new  owner  of  the  estate  over  the  hedge,  and  of  the  old 
manor-house.  It  was  only  finally  settled  between  us 
when  I  went  to  Stratleigh  a  few  days  ago.'  He  lowered 
his  voice  to  a  sly  tone  of  merriment.  '  Now,  as  to 
your  stepmother,  you'll  find  she  is  not  much  to  look 
at,  though  a  good  deal  to  listen  to.  She  is  twenty 
years  older  than  myself,  for  one  thing.' 

'You  forget  that  I  know  her.  She  called  here 
once,  after  we  had  been,  and  found  her  away  from 
home.' 

'  Of  course,  of  course.  Well,  whatever  her  looks 
are,  she's  as  excellent  a  woman  as  ever  breathed.  She 
has  had  lately  left  her  as  absolute  property  three  thou- 
sand five  hundred  a  year,  besides  the  devise  of  this 
estate — and,  by  the  way,  a  large  legacy  came  to  her  in 
satisfaction  of  dower,  as  it  is  called.' 

'  Three  thousand  five  hundred  a  year  ! ' 
141 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

'  And  a  large — well,  a  fair-sized — mansion  in  town, 
and  a  pedigree  as  long  as  my  walking-stick ;  though 
that  bears  evidence  of  being  rather  a  raked-up  affair — 
done  since  the  family  got  rich — people  do  those  things 
now  as  they  build  ruins  on  maiden  estates  and  cast 
antiques  at  Birmingham.' 

Elfride  merely  Hstened  and  said  nothing. 

He  continued  more  quietly  and  impressively.  *  Yes, 
Elfride,  she  is  wealthy  in  comparison  with  us,  though 
with  few  connections.  However,  she  will  introduce 
you  to  the  world  a  little.  We  are  going  to  exchange 
her  house  in  Baker  Street  for  one  at  Kensington,  for 
your  sake.  Everybody  is  going  there  now,  she  says. 
At  Easters  we  shall  fly  to  town  for  the  usual  three 
months — I  shall  have  a  curate  of  course  by  that  time. 
Elfride,  I  am  past  love,  you  know,  and  I  honestly  con- 
fess that  I  married  her  for  your  .sake.  Why  a  woman 
of  her  standing  should  have  thrown  herself  away  upon 
me,  God  knows.  But  I  suppose  her  age  and  plainness 
were  too  pronounced  for  a  town  man.  With  your  good 
looks,  if  you  now  play  your  cards  well,  you  may  marry 
anybody.  Of  course,  a  little  contrivance  will  be  neces- 
sary; but  there's  nothing  to  stand  between  you  and  a 
husband  with  a  title,  that  I  can  see.  Lady  Luxellian 
was  only  a  squire's  daughter.  Now,  don't  you  see  how 
foolish  the  old  fancy  was  ?  But  come,  she  is  indoors 
waiting  to  see  you.  It  is  as  good  as  a  play,  too,'  con- 
tinued the  vicar,  as  they  walked  towards  the  house. 
'  I  courted  her  through  the  privet  hedge  yonder :  not 
entirely,  you  know,  but  we  used  to  walk  there  of  an 
evening — nearly  every  evening  at  last.  But  I  needn't 
tell  you  details  now;  everything  was  terribly  matter-of- 
fact,  I  assure  you.  At  last,  that  day  I  saw  her  at 
Stratleigh,  we  determined  to  settle  it  off-hand.' 

'  And  you  never  said  a  word  to  me,'  replied  Elfride, 
not  reproachfully  either  in  tone  or  thought.     Indeed, 
her  feeling  was   the  very  reverse  of  reproachful.     She 
142 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

felt  relieved  and  even  thankful.  A\Tiere  confidence  had 
not  been  given,  how  could  confidence  be  expected  ? 

Her  father  mistook  her  dispassionateness  for  a  veil 
of  politeness  over  a  sense  of  ill-usage.  *  I  am  not 
altogether  to  blame,'  he  said.  'There  were  two  or 
three  reasons  for  secrecy.  One  was  the  recent  death 
of  her  relative  the  testator,  though  that  did  not  apply  to 
you.  But  remember,  Elfride,'  he  continued  in  a  stiffer 
tone,  '  you  had  mixed  yourself  up  so  foolishly  with 
those  low  people,  the  Smiths — and  it  was  just,  too, 
when  Mrs.  Troyton  and  myself  were  beginning  to 
understand  each  other — that  I  resolved  to  say  nothing 
even  to  you.  How  did  I  know  how  far  you  had  gone 
with  them  and  their  son  ?  You  might  have  made  a 
point  of  taking  tea  with  them  every  day,  for  all  that 
I  knew.' 

Elfride  swallowed  her  feelings  as  she  best  could,  and 
languidly  though  flatly  asked  a  question. 

'  Did  you  kiss  Mrs.  Troyton  on  the  lawn  about  three 
weeks  ago  ?  That  evening  I  came  into  the  study  and 
found  you  had  just  had  candles  in  ? ' 

Mr.  Swancourt  looked  rather  red  and  abashed,  as 
middle-aged  lovers  are  apt  to  do  when  caught  in  the 
tricks  of  younger  ones. 

'Well,  yes;  I  think  I  did,'  he  stammered;  'just  to 
please  her,  you  know.'  And  then  recovering  himself 
he  laughed  heartily. 

'  And  was  this  what  your  Horatian  quotation  referred 
to?' 

'  It  was,  Elfride.' 

They  stepped  into  the  drawing-room  from  the  ver- 
andah. At  that  moment  Mrs.  Swancourt  came  down- 
stairs, and  entered  the  same  room  by  the  door. 

'Here,  Charlotte,  is  my  little  Elfride,'  said  Mr. 
Swancourt,  with  the  increased  affection  of  tone  often 
adopted  towards  relations  when  newly  produced. 

Poor  Elfride,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  did  nothing 
143 


A    PAIR    OF    BLUE   EYES 

at  all ;  but  stood  receptive  of  all  that  came  to  her  by 
sight,  hearing,  and  touch. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  moved  forward,  took  her  step- 
daughter's hand,  then  kissed  her. 

'  Ah,  darling  ! '  she  exclaimed  good-humouredly,  '  you 
didn't  think  when  you  showed  a  strange  old  woman  over 
the  conservatory  a  month  or  two  ago,  and  explained  the 
flowers  to  her  so  prettily,  that  she  would  so  soon  be 
here  in  new  colours.     Nor  did  she,  I  am  sure.' 

The  new  mother  had  been  truthfully  enough  described 
by  Mr.  Swancourt.  She  was  not  physically  attractive. 
She  was  dark — very  dark — in  complexion,  portly  in 
figure,  and  with  a  plentiful  residuum  of  hair  in  the 
proportion  of  half  a  dozen  white  ones  to  half  a  dozen 
black  ones,  though  the  latter  were  black  indeed.  No 
further  observed,  she  was  not  a  woman  to  like.  But 
there  was  more  to  see.  To  the  most  superficial  critic 
it  was  apparent  that  she  made  no  attempt  to  disguise 
her  age.  She  looked  sixty  at  the  first  glance,  and  close 
acquaintanceship  never  proved  her  older. 

Another  and  still  more  winning  trait  was  one  attach- 
ing to  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Before  she  made  a 
remark  these  often  twitched  gently :  not  backwards  and 
forwards,  the  index  of  nervousness ;  not  down  upon  the 
jaw,  the  sign  of  determination;  but  palpably  upwards, 
in  precisely  the  curve  adopted  to  represent  mirth  in  the 
broad  caricatures  of  schoolboys.  Only  this  element  in 
her  face  was  expressive  of  anything  within  the  woman, 
but  it  was  unmistakable.  It  expressed  humour  subjective 
as  well  as  objective — which  could  survey  the  peculiarities 
of  self  in  as  whimsical  a  light  as  those  of  other  people. 

This  is  not  all  of  Mrs.  Swancourt.  She  had  held 
out  to  Elfride  hands  whose  fingers  were  literally  stiff 
with  rings,  signis  auroque  rigentes^  like  Helen's  robe. 
These  rows  of  rings  were  not  worn  in  vanity  apparently. 
They  were  mostly  antique  and  dull,  though  a  few  were 
the  reverse. 

144 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 


RIGHT    HAND. 


I  St.  Plainly  set  oval  onyx,  representing  a  devil's 
head.  2nd.  Green  jasper  intaglio,  with  red  veins,  3rd. 
Entirely  gold,  bearing  figure  of  a  hideous  griffin.  4th. 
A  sea-green  monster  diamond,  with  small  diamonds 
round  it.  5  th.  Antique  cornelian  intaglio  of  dancing 
figure  of  a  satyr.  6  th.  An  angular  band  chased  with 
dragons'  heads.  7th.  A  facetted  carbuncle  accompanied 
by  ten  little  twinkling  emeralds ;  &c,  &c. 

LEFT    HAND. 

ist.  A  reddish-yellow  toadstone.  2nd.  A  heavy  ring 
enamelled  in  colours,  and  bearing  a  jacynth.  3rd.  An 
amethystine  sapphire.  4th.  A  polished  ruby,  sur- 
rounded by  diamonds.  5th.  The  engraved  ring  of  an 
abbess.     6th.  A  gloomy  intaglio  ;  &c.  &c. 

Beyond  this  rather  quaint  array  of  stone  and  metal 
Mrs.  Swancourt  wore  no  ornament  whatever. 

Elfride  had  been  favourably  impressed  with  Mrs. 
Troyton  at  their  meeting  about  two  months  earlier; 
but  to  be  pleased  with  a  woman  as  a  momentary  ac- 
quaintance was  different  from  being  taken  with  her  as 
a  stepmother.  However,  the  suspension  of  feeling  was 
but  for  a  moment.     Elfride  decided  to  hke  her  still. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  was  a  woman  of  the  world  as  to 
knowledge,  the  reverse  as  to  action,  as  her  marriage 
suggested.  Elfride  and  the  lady  were  soon  inextricably 
involved  in  conversation,  and  Mr.  Swancourt  left  them 
to  themselves. 

'  And  what  do  you  find  to  do  with  yourself  here  ? ' 
Mrs.  Swancourt  said,  after  a  few  remarks  about  the 
wedding.     *  You  ride,  I  know.' 

*Yes,  I  ride.  But  not  much,  because  papa  doesn't 
like  my  going  alone.' 

'  You  must  have  somebody  to  look  after  you.' 
145  K 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  And  I  read,  and  write  a  little.' 

'  You  should  write  a  novel.  The  regular  resource 
of  people  who  don't  go  enough  into  the  world  to  live 
a  novel  is  to  write  one.' 

*  I  have  done  it,'  said  Elfride,  looking  dubiously  at 
Mrs.  Swancourt,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  she  would  meet 
with  ridicule  there. 

'  That's  right.     Now,  then,  what  is  it  about,  dear  ?  ' 

*  About — well,  it  is  a  romance  of  the  Middle  Ages.' 

'  Knowing  nothing  of  the  present  age,  which  every- 
body knows  about,  for  safety  you  chose  an  age  known 
neither  to  you  nor  other  people.  That's  it,  eh  ?  No, 
no;  I  don't  mean  it,  dear.' 

'  Well,  I  have  had  some  opportunities  of  studying 
mediaeval  art  and  manners  in  the  library  and  private 
museum  at  Endelstow  House,  and  I  thought  I  should 
like  to  try  my  hand  upon  a  fiction.  I  know  the  time 
for  these  tales  is  past;  but  I  was  interested  in  it,  very 
much  interested.' 

*  When  is  it  to  appear  ?  ' 

*  Oh,  never,  I  suppose.' 

'  Nonsense,  my  dear  girl.  Publish  it,  by  all  means. 
All  ladies  do  that  sort  of  thing  now ;  not  for  profit,  you 
know,  but  as  a  guarantee  of  mental  respectabihty  to 
their  future  husbands.' 

'  An  excellent  idea  of  us  ladies.' 

*  Though  I  am  afraid  it  rather  resembles  the  melan- 
choly ruse  of  throwing  loaves  over  castle-walls  at  be- 
siegers, and  suggests  desperation  rather  than  plenty 
inside.' 

*  Did  you  ever  try  it  ? ' 

*  No ;  I  was  too  far  gone  even  for  that.' 

*  Papa  says  no  publisher  will  take  my  book.' 

*That  remains  to  be  proved.  I'll  give  my  word, 
my  dear,  that  by  this  time  next  year  it  shall  be  printed.' 

'  Will  you,  indeed  ? '  said  Elfride,  partially  brighten- 
ing with  pleasure,  though  she  was  sad  enough  in  her 
146 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

depths.  *  I  thought  brains  were  the  indispensable,  even 
if  the  only,  quaHfication  for  admission  to  the  republic 
of  letters.  A  mere  commonplace  creature  like  me  will 
soon  be  turned  out  again.' 

*  Oh  no ;  once  you  are  there  you'll  be  like  a  drop 
of  water  in  a  piece  of  rock-crystal — your  medium  will 
dignify  your  commonness.' 

'  It  will  be  a  great  satisfaction,'  Elfride  murmured, 
and  thought  of  Stephen,  and  wished  she  could  make  a 
great  fortune  by  writing  romances,  and  marry  him  and 
live  happily. 

'  And  then  we'll  go  to  London,  and  then  to  Paris,' 
said  Mrs.  Swancourt.  '  I  have  been  talking  to  your 
father  about  it.  But  we  have  first  to  move  into  the 
manor-house,  and  we  think  of  staying  at  Torquay 
whilst  that  is  going  on.  Meanwhile,  instead  of  going* 
on  a  honeymoon  scamper  by  ourselves,  we  have  come 
home  to  fetch  you,  and  go  all  together  to  Bath  for  two 
or  three  weeks.' 

Elfride  assented  pleasantly,  even  gladly ;  but  she 
saw  that,  by  this  marriage,  her  father  and  herself  had 
ceased  for  ever  to  be  the  close  relations  they  had  been 
up  to  a  few  weeks  ago.  It  was  impossible  now  to 
tell  him  the  tale  of  her  wild  elopement  with  Stephen 
Smith. 

He  was  still  snugly  housed  in  her  heart.  His 
absence  had  regained  for  him  much  of  that  aureola  of 
saintship  which  had  been  nearly  abstracted  during  her 
reproachful  mood  on  that  miserable  journey  from 
London.  Rapture  is  often  cooled  by  contact  with  its 
cause,  especially  if  under  awkward  conditions.  And 
that  last  experience  with  Stephen  had  done  anything 
but  make  him  shine  in  her  eyes.  His  very  kindness 
in  letting  her  return  'was  his  offence.  Elfride  Jiad  her 
sex's  love  of  sheer  force  in  a  man,  however  ill-directed; 
and  at  that  critical  juncture  in  London  Stephen's  only 
chance  of  retaining  the  ascendancy  over  her  that  his 
147 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

face  and  not  his  parts  had  acquired  for  him,  would 
have  been  by  doing  what,  for  one  thing,  he  was  too 
youthful  to  undertake — that  was,  dragging_her__by  the 
wrist  to  the  railg^  of  some~altar,  and  peremptorily 
marrvin'^  her.  Decisive  action  is  seen  By  appreciative 
minds  to  be  frequently  objectless,  and  sometimes  fatal ; 
but  decision,  however  suicidal,  has  more  charm  for  a 
woman  than  the  most  unequivocal  Fabian  success. 

However,  some  of  the  unpleasant  accessories  of  that 
occasion  were  now  out  of  sight  again,  and  Stephen  had 
resumed  not  a  few  of  his  fancy  colours. 


XIII 

'He  set  in  order  many  proverbs.* 

IT  is  London  in  October — two  months  further  on  in 
the  story. 

Bede's  Inn  has  this  peculiarity,  that  it  faces,  receives 
from,  and  discharges  into  a  bustling  thoroughfare  speak- 
ing only  of  wealth  and  respectabihty,  whilst  its  postern 
abuts  on  as  crowded  and  poverty-stricken  a  network  of 
alleys  as  are  to  be  found  anywhere  in  the  metropolis. 
The  moral  consequences  are,  first,  that  those  who  occupy 
chambers  in  the  Inn  may  see  a  great  deal  of  shirt- 
less humanity's  habits  and  enjoyments  without  doing 
more  than  look  down  from  a  back  window ;  and  second 
they  may  hear  wholesome  though  unpleasant  social  re- 
minders through  the  medium  of  a  harsh  voice,  an 
unequal  footstep,  the  echo  of  a  blow  or  a  fall,  which 
originates  in  the  person  of  some  drunkard  or  wife- 
beater,  as  he  crosses  and  interferes  with  the  quiet  of 
the  square.  Characters  of  this  kind  frequently  pass 
through  the  Inn  from  a  little  foxhole  of  an  alley  at  the 
back,  but  they  never  loiter  there. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  all  the  sights  and 
movements  proper  to  the  Inn  are  most  orderly.  On 
the  fine  October  evening  on  which  we  follow  Stephen 
149 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

Smith  to  this  place,  a  placid  porter  is  sitting  on  a  stool 
under  a  sycamore-tree  in  the  midst,  with  a  little  cane 
in  his  hand.  We  notice  the  thick  coat  of  soot  upon 
the  branches,  hanging  underneath  them  in  flakes,  as  in 
a  chimney.  The  blackness  of  these  boughs  does  not  at 
present  improve  the  tree — nearly  forsaken  by  its  leaves 
as  it  is — but  in  the  spring  their  green  fresh  beauty  is 
made  doubly  beautiful  by  the  contrast.  Within  the 
railings  is  a  flower-garden  of  respectable  dahlias  and 
chrysanthemums,  where  a  man  is  sweeping  the  leaves 
from  the  grass. 

Stephen  selects  a  doorway,  and  ascends  an  old 
though  •wide  wooden  staircase,  with  moulded  balusters 
and  handrail,  which  in  a  country  manor-house  would 
be  considered  a  noteworthy  specimen  of  Renaissance 
workmanship.  He  reaches  a  door  on  the  first  floor, 
over  which  is  painted,  in  black  letters,  *  Mr.  Henry 
Knight ' — '  Barrister-at-law '  being  understood  but  not 
expressed.  The  wall  is  thick,  and  there  is  a  door  at 
its  outer  and  inner  face.  The  outer  one  happens  to  be 
ajar :   Stephen  goes  to  the  other,  and  taps. 

'  Come  in  ! '  from  distant  penetralia. 

First  was  a  small  anteroom,  divided  from  the  inner 
apartment  by  a  wainscoted  archway  two  or  three  yards 
wide.  Across  this  archway  hung  a  pair  of  dark-green 
curtains,  making  a  mystery  of  all  within  the  arch  except 
the  spasmodic  scratching  of  a  quill  pen.  Here  was 
grouped  a  chaotic  assemblage  of  articles — mainly  old 
framed  prints  and  paintings — leaning  edgewise  against 
the  wall,  like  roofing  slates  in  a  builder's  yard.  All  the 
books  visible  here  were  fohos  too  big  to  be  stolen — some 
lying  on  a  heavy  oak  table  in  one  corner,  some  on  the 
floor  among  the  pictures,  the  whole  intermingled  with 
old  coats,  hats,  umbrellas,  and  walking-sticks. 

Stephen  pushed  aside  the  curtain,  and  before  him  sat 
a  man  writing  away  as  if  his  life  •  depended  upon  it — 
which  it  did. 

150 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE    EYES 

A  man  of  thirty  in  a  speckled  coat,  with  dark  brown 
hair,  curly  beard,  and  crisp  moustache:  the  latter 
running  into  the  beard  on  each  side  of  the  mouth,  and, 
as  usual,  hiding  the  real  expression  of  that  organ  under 
a  chronic  aspect  of  impassivity. 

'  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  I  knew  'twas  you,'  said  Knight, 
looking  up  with  a  smile,  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

Knight's  mouth  and  eyes  came  to  view  now.  Both 
features  were  good,  and  had  the  peculiarity  of  appearing 
younger  and  fresher  than  the  brow  and  face  they  belonged 
to,  which  were  getting  sicklied  o'er  by  the  unmistakable 
pale  cast.  The  mouth  had  not  quite  relinquished  rotun- 
dity of  curve  for  the  firm  angularities  of  middle  life ;  and 
the  eyes,  though  keen,  permeated  rather  than  penetrated  : 
what  they  had  lost  of  their  boy-time  brightness  by  a 
dozen  years  of  hard  reading  lending  a  quietness  to  their 
gaze  which  suited  them  well. 

A  lady  would  have  said  there  was  a  smell  of  tobacco 
in  the  room  :  a  man  that  there  was  not. 

Knight  did  not  rise.  He  looked  at  a  timepiece  on 
the  mantelshelf,  then  turned  again  to  his  letters,  point- 
ing to  a  chair. 

'  Well,  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  only  returned 
to  town  yesterday;  now,  don't  speak,  Stephen,  for  ten 
minutes  ;  I  have  just  that  time  to  the  late  post.  At  the 
eleventh  minute,  I'm  your  man.' 

Stephen  sat  down  as  if  this  kind  of  reception  was  by' 
no  means  new,  and  away  went  Knight's  pen,  beating  up 
and  down  like  a  ship  in  a  storm. 

Cicero  called  the  library  the  soul  of  the  house ;  her^. 
the  house  was  all  soul.  Portions  of  the  floor,  and  half 
the  wall-space,  were  taken  up  by  book-shelves  ordinary 
and  extraordinary;  the  remaining  parts,  together  with 
brackets,  side  -  tables,  &c.,  being  occupied  by  casts, 
statuettes,  medallions,  and  plaques  of  various  descrip- 
tions, picked  up  by  the  owner  in  his  wanderings  through 
France  and  Italy.  f 

151 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

One  stream  only  of  evening  sunlight  came  into  the 
room  from  a  window  quite  in  the  corner,  overlooking  a 
court.  An  aquarium  stood  in  the  window.  It  was  a 
dull  parallelopipedon  enough  for  living  creatures  at 
most  hours  of  the  day ;  but  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
evening,  as  now,  an  errant,  kindly  ray  lighted  up  and 
warmed  the  little  world  therein,  when  the  many-coloured 
zoophytes  opened  and  put  forth  their  arms,  the  weeds 
acquired  a  rich  transparency,  the  shells  gleamed  of  a 
more  golden  yellow,  and  the  timid  community  expressed 
gladness  more  plainly  than  in  words. 

Within  the  prescribed  ten  minutes  Knight  flung 
down  his  pen,  rang  for  the  boy  to  take  the  letters  to  the 
post,  and  at  the  closing  of  the  door  exclaimed,  '  There ; 
thank  God,  that's  done.  Now,  Stephen,  pull  your  chair 
round,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  all  this 
time.     Have  you  kept  up  your  Greek  ? ' 

'  No.' 

'  How's  that  ?  ' 

'  I  haven't  enough  spare  time.' 

'  That's  nonsense.' 

*  Well,  I  have  done  a  great  many  things,  if  not  that. 
And  I  have  done  one  extraordinary  thing.' 

Knight  turned  full  upon  Stephen.  '  Ah-ha  !  Now, 
then,  let  me  look  into  your  face,  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether, and  make  a  shrewd  guess.' 

Stephen  changed  to  a  redder  colour. 

'  Why,  Smith,'  said  Knight,  after  holding  him 
rigidly  by  the  shoulders,  and  keenly  scrutinising  his 
countenance  for  a  minute  in  silence,  'you  have  fallen 
in  love.' 

'  Well— the  fact  is 

*  Now,  out  with  it.'  But  seeing  that  Stephen  looked 
rather  distressed,  he  changed  to  a  kindly  tone.  '  Now 
Smith,  my  lad,  you  know  me  well  enough  by  this  time, 
or  you  ought  to ;  and  you  know  very  well  that  if  you 
choose  to  give  me  a  detailed  account  of  the  phenomenon 

IS3 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

within  you,  I  shall  listen ;  if  you   don't,  I  am  the  last 

man  in  the  world  to  care  to  hear  it.' 

'  I'll  tell  this  much  :  I  have  fallen  in  love,  and  I  want 

to  be  married.^ 

Knight  looked  ominous    as   this   passed  Stephen's 

Hps. 

'  Don't   judge    me    before  you    have   heard    more,' 

cried    Stephen    anxiously,    seeing    the  changeV^  in  '  his 

friend's  countenance.  4,  * 

'I  don't  judge.     Does  your  mother  know  about  it ? ' 
'  Nothing  definite.'  v     . 

'Father?'  .  ^^tl- 

'  No.     But  I'll  tell  you.     The  young  person ' 

'  Come,   that's    dreadfully  ungallant.  '>fcit    perhaps 

I    understand  the  frame   of  mind   a   Httle,   so  go   on. 

Your  sweetheart ' 

'  She  is  rather  higher  in  the  world  than  I  am.' 

*  As  it  should  be.'  ♦', 

*  And  her  father  won't  hear  of  it,  as  ][;^o\t,|tand. 

*  Not  an  uncommon  case.'  . 

'  And  now  comes  what  I  want  your  advice  i^^iPr 
Something  has  happened  at  her  house  which  makes  it 
out  of  the  question  for  us  to  ask  her  father  again  now. 
So  we  are  keeping  silent.  In  the  meantime  an  architect 
in  India  has  just  written  to  Mr.  Hewby  to  ask  whether 
he  can  find  for  him  a  young  assistant  willing  to  go 
over  to  Bombay  to  prepare  drawings  for  work  formerly 
done  by  the  engineers.  The  salary  he  offers  is  350 
rupees  a  month,  or  about  £1^-  Hewby  has  mentioned 
it  to  me,  and  I  have  been  to  Dr.  Wray,  who  says  I 
shall  acclimatise  without  much  illness.  Now,  would 
you  go  ? ' 

'  You  mean  to  say,  because  it  is  a  possible  road  to 
the  young  lady.' 

'  Yes ;  I  was  thinking  I  could  go  over  and  make  a 
little  money,  and  then  come  back  and  ask  for  her.     I 
have  the  option  of  practising  for  myself  after  a  year.' 
^  153 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Would  she  be  staunch  ?  ' 

'  Oh  yes  !     For  ever — to  the  end  of  her  Hfe  ! ' 

'  How  do  you  know  ?  ' 

'  Why,  how  do  people  know  ?     Of  course,  she  will.' 

Knight  leant  back  in  his  chair.  '  Now,  though  I 
know  her  thoroughly  as  she  exists  in  your  heart, 
Stephen,  I  don't  know  her  in  the  flesh.  All  I  want 
to  ask  is,  is  this  idea  of  going  to  India  based  entirely 
upon  a  belief  in  her  fidehty  ?  ' 

'  Yes  ;   I  should  not  go  if  it  were  not  for  her.' 

'  Well,  Stephen,  you  have  put  me  in  rather  an 
awkward  position.  If  I  give  my  true  sentiments,  I 
shall  hurt  your  feelings ;  if  I  don't,  I  shall  hurt  my 
own  judgment.  And  remember,  I  don't  know  much 
about  women.' 

*  But  you  have  had  attachments,  although  you  tell 
me  very  Httle  about  them'' 

'  And  I  only  hope  you'll  continue  to  prosper  till  I 
tell  you  more.' 

Stephen  winced,  at  this  rap.  '  I  have  never  formed 
a  deep  attachment,'  continued  Knight.  *  I  never  have 
found  a  woman  worth  it.  Nor  have  I  been  once 
engaged  to  be  married.' 

'  You  write  as  if  you  had  been  engaged  a  hundred 
times,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,'  said  Stephen  in 
an  injured  tone. 

'  Yes,  that  may  be.  But,  my  dear  Stephen,  it  is  only 
those  who  half  know  a  thing  that  write  about  it.  Those 
who  know  it  thoroughly  don't  take  the  trouble.  All  I 
know  about  women,  or  men  either,  is  a  mass  of  generali- 
ties. I  plod  along,  and  occasionally  Hft  my  eyes  and 
skim  the  weltering  surface  of  mankind  lying  between  me 
and  the  horizon^  as  a  crow  might ;  no  more.' 

Knight  stopped  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  a  train  of 
thought,  and  Stephen  looked  with  affectionate  awe  at  a 
master  whose  mind,  he  believed,  could  swallow  up  at 
one  meal  all  that  his  own  head  contained. 
154 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

There  was  affective  sympathy,  but  no  great  intel- 
lectual fellowship,  between  Knight  and  Stephen  Smith. 
Knight  had  seen  his  young  friend  when  the  latter  was 
a  cherry-cheeked  happy  boy,  had  been  interested  in 
him,  had  kept  his  eye  upon  him,  and  generously  helped 
the  lad  to  books,  till  the  mere  connection  of  patronage 
grew  to  acquaintance,  and  that  ripened  to  friendship. 
And  so,  though  Smith  was  not  at  all  the  man  Knight 
would  have  deliberately  chosen  as  a  friend — or  even  for 
one  of  a  group  of  a  dozen  friends — he  somehow  was 
his  friend.  Circumstance,  as  usual,  did  it  all.  How 
many  of  us  can  say  of  our  m.ost  intimate  alter  ego^ 
leaving  alone  friends  of  the  outer  circle,  that  he  is  the 
man  we  should  have  chosen,  as  embodying  the  net 
result  after  adding  up  all  the  points  in  human  nature 
that  we  love,  and  principles  we  hold,  and  subtracting 
all  that  we  hate  ?  The  man  is  really  somebody  we  got 
to  know  by  mere  physical  juxtaposition  long  maintained, 
and  was  taken  into  our  confidencis,  and  even  heart,  as 
a  makeshift. 

'And  what  do  you  think  of  her?'  Stephen  ventured 
to  say,  after  a  silence. 

*  Taking  her  merits  on  trust  from  you,'  said  Knight, 
*  as  we  do  those  of  the  Roman  poets  of  whom  we 
know  nothing  but  that  they  lived, '  I  still  think  she 
will  not  stick  to  you  through,  say,  three  years  of 
absence  in  India.' 

*  But  she  will ! '  cried  Stephen  desperately.  '  She 
is  a  girl  all  delicacy  and  honour.  And  no  woman  of 
that  kind,  who  has  committed  herself  so  into  a  man's 
hands  as  she  has  into  mine,  could  possibly  marry 
another.' 

'How  has  she  committed  herself?'  asked  Knight 
curiously. 

Stephen   did  not  answer.      Knight  had   looked   on 
his  love  so  sceptically  that  it  would  not  do  to  say  all 
that  he  had  intended  to  say  by  any  means. 
155 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'Well,  don't  tell,'  said  Knight.  'But  you  are 
begging  the  question,  which  is,  I  suppose,  inevitable 
in  love.' 

*  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing,'  the  younger  man 
pleaded.  'You  remember  what  you  said  to  me  once 
about  women  receiving  a  kiss.  Don't  you  ?  Why, 
that  instead  of  our  being  charmed  by  the  fascination 
of  their  bearing  at  such  a  time,  we  should  immediately 
doubt  them  if  their  confusion  has  any  grace  in  it — 
that  awkward  bungling  was  the  true  charm  of  the  occa- 
sion, implying  that  we  are  the  first  who  has  played 
such  a  part  with  them.' 

'  It  is  true,  quite,'  said  Knight  musing^^r. 

It  often  happened  that  the  disciple  thus  remem- 
bered the  lessons  of  the  master  long  after  the  master 
himself  had  forgotten  them. 

'  Well,  that  was  like  her ! '  cried  Stephen  triumph- 
antly. '  She  was  in  such  a  flurry  that  she  didn't  know 
what  she  was  doing.' 

'  Splendid,  splendid  ! '  said  Knight  soothingly.  '  So 
that  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  if  you  see  a  good  open- 
ing in  Bombay  there's  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
go  without  troubling  to  draw  fine  distinctions  as  to 
reasons.  No  man  fully  realizes  what  opinions  he  acts 
upon,  or  what  his  actions  mean.' 

'  Yes ;  I  go  to  Bombay.  I'll  write  a  note  here,  if 
you  don't  mind.' 

'  Sleep  over  it  —  it  is  the  best  plan  —  and  write 
to-morrow.  Meantime,  go  there  to  that  window  and 
sit  down,  and  look  at  my  Humanity  Show.  I  am 
going  to  dine  out  this  evening,  and  have  to  dress  here 
out  of  my  portmanteau.  I  bring  up  my  things  like 
this  to  save  the  trouble  of  going  down  to  my  place  at 
Richmond  and  back  again.' 

Knight  then  went  to  the  middle  of  the  room  and 
flung  open  his  portmanteau,  and  Stephen  drew  near 
the  window.     The  streak  of  sunlight  had  crept  upward, 

156 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

edged  away,  and  vanished ;  the  zoophytes  slept :  a 
dusky  gloom  pervaded  the  room.  And  now  another 
volume  of  light  shone  over  the  window. 

'  There ! '  said  Knight,  *  where  is  there  in  England 
a  spectacle  to  equal  that?  I  sit  there  and  watch 
them  every  night  before  I  go  home.  Softly  open  the 
sash.' 

Beneath  them  was  an  alley  running  up  to  the  wall, 
and  thence  turning  sideways  and  passing  under  an 
arch,  so  that  Knight's  back  window  was  immediately 
over  the  angle,  and  commanded  a  view  of  the  alley 
lengthwise.  Crowds — mostly  of  women — were  surging, 
bustling,  and  pacing  up  and  down.  Gaslights  glared 
from  butchers'  stalls,  illuminating  the  lumps  of  flesh 
to  splotches  of  orange  and  vermiHon,  like  the  wild 
colouring  of  Turner's  later  pictures,  whilst  the  purl 
and  babble  of  tongues  of  every  pitch  and  mood  was 
to  this  human  wild-wood  what  the  ripple  of  a  brook 
is  to  the  natural  forest. 

Nearly  ten  minutes  passed.  Then  Knight  also 
came  to  the  window. 

*  Well,  now,  I  call  a  cab  and  vanish  down  the  street 
in  the  direction  of  Berkeley  Square,'  he  said,  buttoning 
his  waistcoat  and  kicking  his  morning  suit  into  a 
corner.     Stephen  rose  to  leave.  ^ 

'  What  a  heap  of  literature ! '  remarked  the  young  ^ 
man,  taking  a  final  longing  survey  round  the  room,  as 
if  to  abide  there  for  ever  would  be  the  ^reat  pleasure 
of  his  life,  yet  feeling  that  he  had  almost  outstaj^^his 
welcome-while.  His  eyes  rested  upon  an  arm-chair 
piled  full  of  newspapers,  magazines,  and  bright -^  new 
volumes  in  green  and  red.  ft^t 

'  Yes,'  said  Knight,  also  looking  at  them  and  breath-  4  ^ 
ing  a  sigh  of  weariness  ;  '  something  must  be  done  with 
several  of  them  soon,  I  suppose.  Stephen,  you  needn't 
hurry  away  for  a  few  minutes,  you  know,  if  you  want 
to  stay ;  I  am  not  quite  ready.  Overhaul  those  volumes 
157 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

whilst  I  put  on  my  coat,  and  I'll  walk  a  little  way 
with  you.' 

vStephen  sat  down  beside  the  arm-chair  and  began 
to  tumble  the  books  about.  Among  the  rest  he  found  a 
novelette  in  one  volume,  The  Court  of  Kellyon  Castle. 
By  Ernest  Field. 

'  Are  you  going  to  review  this  ?  '  inquired  Stephen 
v/ith  apparent  unconcern,  and  holding  up  Elfride's 
effusion. 

'  Which  ?  Oh,  that !  I  may — though  I  don't  do 
much  light  reviewing  now.     But  it  is  reviewable.' 

'  How  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

Knight  never  liked  to  be  asked  what  he  meant. 
'  Mean  !  I  mean  that  the  majority  of  books  published 
are  neither  good  enough  nor  bad  enough  to  provoke 
criticism,  and  that  that  book  does  provoke  it.' 

'  By  its  goodness  or  its  badness  ? '  Stephen  said 
with  some  anxiety  on  poor  little  Elfride's  score. 

'  Its  badness.  It  seems  to  be  written  by  some  girl 
in  her  teens.' 

Stephen  said  not  another  word.  He  did  not  care 
to  speak  plainly  of  Elfride  after  that  unfortunate  slip 
his  tongue  had  made  in  respect  of  her  having  com- 
mitted herself;  and,  apart  from  that.  Knight's  severe — 
almost  dogged  and  self-willed — honesty  in  criticizing 
was  unassailable  by  the  humble  wish  of  a  youthful 
friend  like  Stephen. 

Knight  was  now  ready.  Turning  oft  the  gas,  and 
slamming  together  the  door,  they  went  downstairs  and 
into  the  street. 


XIV 

•We  frolic  while  'tis  May/ 

It  has  now  to  be  realized  that  nearly  three-quarters  of 
a  year  have  passed  away.  In  place  of  the  autumnal 
scenery  which  formed  a  setting  to  the  previous  enact- 
ments, we  have  the  culminating  blooms  of  summer  in 
the  year  following. 

Stephen  is  in  India,  slaving  away  at  an  office  in 
Bombay ;  occasionally  going  up  the  country  on  pro- 
fessional errands,  and  wondering  why  people  who  had 
been  there  longer  than  he  complained  so  much  of  the 
effect  of  the  climate  upon  their  constitutions.  Never 
had  a  young  man  a  finer  start  than  seemed  now  to 
present  itself  to  Stephen.  It  was  just  in  that  excep- 
tional heyday  of  prosperity  which  shone  over  Bombay 
some  few  years  ago,  that  he  arrived  on  the  scene. 
Building  and  engineering  partook  of  the  general  im- 
petus. Speculation  m.oved  with  an  accelerated  velocity 
every  successive  day,  the  only  disagreeable  contingency 
connected  with  it  being  the  possibility  of  a  collapse. 

Elfride  had  never  told   her  father  of  the  four-and- 

twenty-hours'    escapade  with   Stephen,  nor  had  it,   to 

her  knowledge,  come   to  his  ears  by  any  other  route. 

It  was  a  secret  trouble  and  grief  to  the  girl  for  a  short 

159 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

time,  and  Stephen's  departure  was  another  ingredient 
in  her  sorrow.  But  Elfride  possessed  special  facilities 
for  getting  rid  of  trouble  after  a  decent  interval.  Whilst 
a  slow  nature  was  imbibing  a  misfortune  little  by  little, 
she  had  swallowed  the  whole  agony  of  it  at  a  draught 
and  was  brightening  again.  She  could  slough  off  a  sad- 
ness and  replace  it  by  a  hope  as  easily  as  a  lizard  renews 
a  diseased  limb. 

And  two  such  excellent  distractions  had  presented 
themselves.  One  was  bringing  out  the  romance  and 
looking  for  notices  in  the  papers,  which,  though  they 
had  been  significantly  short  so  far,  had  served  to  divert 
her  thoughts.  The  other  was  migrating  from  the  vicar- 
age to  the  more  commodious  old  house  of  Mrs.  Swan- 
court's,  overlooking  the  same  valley.  Mr.  Swancourt 
at  first  disliked  the  idea  of  being  transplanted  to 
feminine  soil,  but  the  obvious  advantages  of  such  an 
accession  of  dignity  reconciled  him  to  the  change.  So 
there  was  a  radical  *  move ; '  the  two  ladies  staying  at 
Torquay  as  had  been  arranged,  the  vicar  going  to  and 
fro. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  considerably  enlarged  Elfride's  ideas 
in  an  aristocratic  direction,  and  she  began  to  forgive  her 
father  for  his  politic  marriage.  Certainly,  in  a  worldly 
sense,  a  handsome  face  at  three-and-forty  had  never 
served  a  man  in  better  stead. 

The  new  house  at  Kensington  was  ready,  and  they 
were  all  in  town. 

The  Hyde  Park  shrubs  had  been  transplanted  as 
usual,  the  chairs  ranked  in  line,  the  grass  edgings 
trimmed,  the  roads  made  to  look  as  if  they  were  suffer- 
ing from  a  heavy  thunderstorm ;  carriages  had  been 
called  for  by  the  easeful,  horses  by  the  brisk,  and  the 
Drive  and  Row  were  again  the  groove  of  gaiety  for  an 
hour.  We  gaze  upon  the  spectacle,  at  six  o'clock  on 
this  midsummer  afternoon,  in  a  melon-frame  atmosphere 

i6o 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

and  beneath  a  violet  sky.  The  Swancourt  equipage 
formed  one  in  the  stream. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  was  a  talker  of  talk  of  the  incisive 
kind,  which  her  low  musical  voice — the  only  beautiful 
point  in  the  old  woman — prevented  from  being  weari- 
some. 

'  Now,'  she  said  to  Elfride,  who,  like  ^neas  at 
Carthage,  was  full  of  admiration  for  the  brilliant  scene, 
*  you  will  find  that  our  companionless  state  will  give  us, 
as  it  does  everybody,  an  extraordinary  power  in  reading 
the  features  of  our  fellow-creatures  here.  I  always  am 
a  listener  in  such  places  as  these — not  to  the  narratives 
told  by  my  neighbours'  tongues,  but  by  their  faces — the 
advantage  of  which  is,  that  whether  I  am  in  Row, 
Boulevard,  Rialto,  or  Prado,  they  all  speak  the  same 
language.  I  may  have  acquired  some  skill  in  this 
practice  through  having  been  an  ugly  lonely  woman  for 
so  many  years,  with  nobody  to  give  me  information ;  a 
thing  you  will  not  consider  strange  when  the  parallel 
case  is  borne  in  mind, — how  truly  people  who  have  no 
clocks  will  tell  the  time  of  day.' 

*  Ay,  that  they  will,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt  corrobora- 
tively.  *I  have  known  labouring  men  at  Endelstow 
and  other  farms  who  had  framed  complete  systems  of 
observation  for  that  purpose.  By  means  of  shadows, 
winds,  clouds,  the  movements  of  sheep  and  oxen,  the 
singing  of  birds,  the  crowing  of  cocks,  and  a  hundred 
other  sights  and  sounds  which  people  with  watches  in 
their  pockets  never  know  the  existence  of,  they  are 
able  to  pronounce  within  ten  minutes  of  the  hour 
almost  at  any  required  instant.  That  reminds  me  of 
an  old  story  ,which  I'm  afraid  is  too  bad — too  bad  to 
repeat.'  Here  the  vicar  shook  his  head  and' laughed 
inwardly. 

'  Tell  it— do  ! '  said  the  ladies.  * 
'  I  mustn't  quite  tell  it.' 

*  That's  absurd,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt. 

i6i  L 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  It  was  only  about  a  man  who,  by  the  same  careful 
system  of  observation,  was  known  to  deceive  persons  for 
more  than  two  years  into  the  belief  that  he  kept  a  baro- 
meter by  stealth,  so  exactly  did  he  foretell  all  changes 
in  the  weather  by  the  braying  of  his  ass  and  the  temper 
of  his  wife.' 

Elfride  laughed. 

*  Exactly,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt.  '  And  in  just  the 
way  that  those  learnt  the  signs  of  nature,  I  have  learnt 
the  language  of  her  illegitimate  sifter — artificiality ;  and 
the  fibbing  of  eyes,  the  contempt  of  nose-tips,  the 
indignation  of  back  hair,  the  laughter  of  clothes,  the 
cynicism  of  footsteps,  and  the  various  emotions  lying 
in  walking-stick  twirls,  hat-liftings,  the  elevation  of 
parasols,  the  carriage  of  umbrellas,  become  as  A  B  C 
to  me. 

*  Just  look  at  that  daughter's  sister  class  of  mamma 
in  the  carriage  across  there,'  she  continued  to  Elfride, 
pointing  with  merely  a  turn  of  her  eye.  '  The  absorbing 
self-consciousness  of  her  position  that  is  shown  by  her 
countenance  is  most  humiliating  to  a  lover  of  one's 
country.  You  would  hardly  believe,  would  you,  that 
members  of  a  Fashionable  World,  whose  professed 
zero  is  far  above  the  highest  degree  of  the  humble, 
could  be  so  ignorant  of  the  elementary  instincts  of 
reticence.' 

'  How  ? ' 

*  Why,  to  bear  on  their  faces,  as  plainly  as  on  a 
phylactery,    the    inscription,    "  Do,    pray,    look    at    the 

V  /  coronet  on  my  panels." ' 

'^^       *  Really,  Charlotte,'  said  the  vicar,  '  you  see  as  much 
in  faces  as  Mr.  Puff  saw  in  Lord  Burleigh's  nod.' 

Elfride  could  not  but  admire  the  beauty  of  her  fellow 
countrywomen,  especially  since  herself  and  her  own  few 
acquaintances  had  always  been  slightly  sunburnt  or 
marked  on  the  back  of  the  hands  by  a  bramble-scratch 
at  this  time  of  the  year. 

162 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*And  what  lovely  flowers  and  leaves  they  wear  in 
their  bonnets  ! '  she  exclaimed. 

'  Oh  yes/  returned  Mrs.  Swancourt.  '  Some  of  them 
are  even  more  striking  in  colour  than  any  real  ones. 
Look  at  that  beautiful  rose  worn  by  the  lady  inside  the 
rails.  Elegant  vine-tendrils  introduced  upon  the  stem 
as  an  improvement  upon  prickles,  and  all  growing  so 
naturally  just  over  her  ear — I  say  growing  advisedly, 
for  the  pink  of  the  petals  and  the  pink  of  her  handsome 
cheeks  are  equally  from  Nature's  hand  to  the  eyes  of 
the  most  casual  observer.' 

'  But  praise  them  a  little,  they  do  deserve  it ! '  said 
generous  Elfride. 

'  Well,  I  do.     See  how  the  Duchess  of waves  to 

and  fro  in  her  seat,  utilizing  the  sway  of  her  landau 
by  looking  around  only  when  her  head  is  swung  forward, 
with  a  passive  pride  which  forbids  a  resistance  to  the 
force  of  circumstance.  Look  at  the  pretty  pout  on  the 
mouths  of  that  family  there,  retaining  no  traces  of  being 
arranged  beforehand,  so  well  is  it  done.  Look  at  the 
demure  close  of  the  little  fists  holding  the  parasols ;  the 
tiny  alert  thumb,  sticking  up  erect  against  the  ivory 
stem  as  knowing  as  can  be,  the  satin  of  the  parasol 
invariably  matching  the  complexion  of  the  face  beneath 
it,  yet  seemingly  by  an  accident,  which  makes  the  thing 
so  attractive.  There's  the  red  book  lying  on  the 
opposite  seat,  bespeaking  the  vast  numbers  of  their 
acquaintance.  And  I  particularly  admire  the  aspect  of 
that  abundantly  daughtered  woman  on  the  other  side 
— I  mean  her  look  of  unconsciousness  that  the  girls 
are  stared  at  by  the  walkers,  and  above  all  the  look  of 
the  girls  themselves — losing  their  gaze  in  the  depths 
of  handsome  men's  eyes  without  appearing  to  notice 
whether  they  are  observing  masculine  eyes*  or  the  leaves 
of  the  trees.  There's  praise  for  you.  But  I  am  only 
jesting,  child — you  know  that.' 

'  Piph-ph-ph — how  warm  it  is,  to  be  sure ! '  said  Mr. 
163 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Swancourt,  as  if  his  mind  were  a  long  distance  from  all 
he  saw.  '  I  declare  that  my  watch  is  so  hot  that  I  can 
scarcely  bear  to  touch  it  to  see  what  the  time  is,  and  all 
the  world  smells  like  the  inside  of  a  hat.' 

*  How  the  men  stare  at  you,  Elfride ! '  said  the  elder 
lady.     *  You  will  kill  me  quite,  I  am  afraid.' 
.       '  Kill  you  ? ' 

'  As  a  diamond  kills  an  opal  in  the  same  setting.' 

'  I  have  noticed  several  ladies  and  gentlemen  looking 
at  me,'  said  Elfride  artlessly,  showing  her  pleasure  at 
being  observed. 

'  My  dear,  you  mustn't  say  "  gentlemen  "  nowadays,' 
her  stepmother  answered  in  the  tones  of  arch  concern 
that  so  well  became  her  ugliness.  '  We  have  handed  over 
"  gentlemen  "  to  the  lower  middle  class,  where  the  word 
is  still  to  be  heard  at  tradesmen's  balls  and  provincial 
tea-parties,  I  believe.     It  is  done  with  here.' 

'  What  must  I  say,  then  ?  ' 

'  "  Ladies  and  men  "  always.' 

At  this  moment  appeared  in  the  stream  of  vehicles 
moving  in  the  contrary  direction  a  chariot  presenting  in 
its  general  surface  the  rich  indigo  hue  of  a  midnight 
sky,  the  wheels  and  margins  being  picked  out  in  dehcate 
lines  of  ultramarine;  the  servants'  liveries  were  dark- 
blue  coats  and  silver  lace,  and  breeches  of  neutral  Indian 
red.  The  whole  concern  formed  an  organic  whole,  and 
moved  along  behind  a  pair  of  dark  chestnut  geldings, 
who  advanced  in  an  indifferently  zealous  trot,  very 
daintily  performed,  and  occasionally  shrugged  divers 
points  of  their  veiny  surface  as  if  they  were  rather  above 
the  business. 

In  this  sat  a  gentleman  with  no  decided  characteristics 
more  than  that  he  somewhat  resembled  a  good-natured 
commercial  traveller  of  the  superior  class.  Beside  him 
was  a  lady  with  skim-milky  eyes  and  complexion,  be- 
longing to  the  "  interesting "  class  of  women,  where 
that  class  merges  in  the  sickly,  her  greatest  pleasure 
164 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

being  apparently  to  enjoy  nothing.     Opposite  this  pair 
sat  two  little  girls  in  white  hats  and  blue  feathers. 

.  The  lady  saw  Elfride,  smiled  and  bowed,  and  touched 
her  husband's  elbow,  who  turned  and  received  Elfride's 
movement  of  recognition  with  a  gallant  elevation  of  his 
hat.  Then  the  two  children  held  up  _their  arm§  to 
Elfride,  and  laughed  gleefully. 

*  Who  is  that  ?  ' 

*  Why,  Lord  Luxellian,  isn't  it  ? '  said  Mrs.  Swan- 
court,  who  with  the  vicar  had  been  seated  with  her 
back  towards  them. 

*  Yes,'  replied  Elfride.  '  He  is  the  one  man  of  those 
I  have  seen  here  whom  I  consider  handsomer  than  papa.' 

*  Thank  you,  dear,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

*  Yes ;  but  your  father  is  so  much  older.  When 
Lord  Luxellian  gets  a  Httle  further  on  in  Hfe,  he  won't 
be  half  so  good-looking  as  our  man.' 

'  Thank  you,  dear,  likewise,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

*  See,'  exclaimed  Elfride,  still  looking  towards  them, 
*  how  those  little  dears  want  me  !  Actually  one  of  them 
is  crying  for  me  to  come.' 

*We  were  talking  of  bracelets  just  now.  Look  at 
Lady  Luxellian's,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  as  that  baroness 
lifted  up  her  arm  to  support  one  of  the  children.  '  It 
is  slipping  up  her  arm — too  large  by  half.  I  hate  to 
see  daylight  between  a  bracelet  and  a  wrist ;  I  wonder 
women  haven't  better  taste.' 

*  It  is  not  on  that  account,  indeed,'  Elfride  expostu- 
lated. 'It  is  that  her  arm  has  got  thin,  poor  thing. 
You  cannot  think  how  much  she  has  altered  in  this 
last  twelvemonth.' 

The  carriages  were  now  nearer  together,  and  there 
was  an  exchange  of  more  familiar  greetings  between 
the  two  families.  Then  the  Luxelhans  crossed  over 
and  drew  up  under  the  plane-trees,  just  in  the  rear  of 
the  Swancourts.  Lord  >  Luxellian  alighted,  and  came 
forward  with  a  musical  laugh. 


\ 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

ly      It  was  his  attraction  as  a  man.     People  liked  him 

^'     for  those  tones,   and  forgot   that   he  had   no   talents. 

Acquaintances    remembered    Mr.     Swancourt    by    his 

manner ;  they  remembered  Stephen  Smith  by  his  face, 

Lord  Luxellian  by  his  laugh. 

Mr.  Swancourt  made  some  friendly  remarks — among 
others  things  upon  the  heat. 

'Yes,'  said  Lord  Luxellian,  *we  were  driving  by  a 
furrier's  window  this  afternoon,  and  the  sight  filled  us 
all  with  such  a  sense  of  suffocation  that  we  were  glad 
to  get  away.  Ha-ha  ! '  He  turned  to  Elfride.  '  Miss 
Swancourt,  I  have  hardly  seen  or  spoken  to  you  since 
your  literary  feat  was  made  public.  I  had  no  idea  a 
chiel  was  taking  notes  down  at  quiet  Endelstow,  or  I 
should  certainly  have  put  myself  and  friends  upon  our 
best  behaviour.  Swancourt,  why  didn't  you  give  me  a 
hint ! ' 

Elfride  fluttered,  blushed,  laughed,  said  it  was  nothing 
to  speak  of,  &c.  &c. 

'  Well,  I  think  you  were  rather  unfairly  treated  by 
the  Present;  I  certainly  do.  Writing  a  heavy  review 
like  that  upon  an  elegant  trifle  like  the  Court  of  Kelly  on 
Castle  was  absurd.' 

<  What  ? '  said  Elfride,  opening  her  eyes.  '  Was  I 
'     reviewed  in  the  Present  1 ' 

'  Oh  yes ;  didn't  you  see  it  ?  Why,  it  was  four  or 
five  months  ago  ! ' 

*  No,  I  never  saw  it.  How  sorry  I  am !  What  a 
shame  of  my  pubhshers !  They  promised  to  send  me 
every  notice  that  appeared.' 

'  Ah,  then,  I  am  almost  afraid  I  have  been  giving 
you  disagreeable  information,  intentionally  withheld  out 
of  courtesy.  Depend  upon  it  they  thought  no  good' 
would  come  of  sending  it,  and  so  would  not  pain  you 
unnecessarily.' 

'  Oh  no ;  I  am  indeed  glad  you  have  told  me,  Lord 
Luxellian.  It  is  quite  a  mistaken  kindness  on  their 
i66 


M',V€P^' 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 


part.  Is  the  review  so  much  against  me  ?  '  she  inquired 
tremulously. 

'  No,  no ;  not  that  exactly — though  I  almost  forget 
its  exact  purport  now.  It  was  merely — merely  sharp, 
you  know — ungenerous,  I  might  say.  But  really  my 
memory  does  not  enable  me  to  speak  decidedly.' 

'  We'll  drive  to  the  Present  office,  and  get  one 
directly ;  shall  we,  papa  ?  ' 

'  If  you  are  so  anxious,  dear,  we  will,  or  send.  But 
to-morrow  will  do.' 

'  And  do  oblige  me  in  a  little  matter  now,  Elfride,' 
said  Lord  Luxellian  warmly,  and  looking  as  if  he  were 
sorry  he  had  brought  news  that  disturbed  her.  <  I  am 
in  reality  sent  here  as  a  special  messenger  by  my 
little  Polly  and  Katie  to  ask  you  to  come  into  our 
carriage  with  them  for  a  short  time.  I  am  just  going 
to  walk  across  into  Piccadilly,  and  my  wife  is  left 
alone  with  them.  I  am  afraid  they  are  rather  spoilt 
children  ;  but  I  have  half  promised  them  you  shall 
come.' 

The  steps  were  let  down,  and  Elfride  was  transferred 
— to  the  intense  delight  of  the  little  girls,  and  to  the 
mild  interest  of  loungers  with  red  skins  and  long 
necks,  who  cursorily  eyed  the  performance  with  their 
walking-sticks  to  their  lips,  occasionally  laughing  from 
far  down  their  throats  and  with  their  eyes,  their  mouths 
not  being  concerned  in  the  operation  at  all.  Lord 
Luxellian  then  told  the  coachman  to  drive  on,  lifted  his 
hat,  smiled  a  smile  that  missed  its  mark  and  alighted 
on  a  total  stranger,  who  bowed  in  bewilderment.  Lord 
Luxellian  looked  long  at  Elfride. 

The  look  was  a  manly,  open,  and  genuine  look  of 
admiration ;  a  momentary  tribute  of  a  kind  which  any 
honest  Englishman  might  have  paid  to  fairness  without 
being  ashamed  of  the  feeling,  or  permitting  it  to  encroach 
in  the  slightest  degree  upon  his  emotional  obligations  as 
a  husband  and  head  of  a  family.  Then  Lord  Luxellian 
167 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

turned  away,  and  walked  musingly  to  the  upper  end  of 
the  promenade. 

Mr.  Swancourt  had  alighted  at  the  same  time  with 
Elfride,  crossing  over  to  the  Row  for  a  few  minutes  to 
speak  to  a  friend  he  recognized  there ;  and  his  wife  was 
thus  left  sole  tenant  of  the  carriage. 

Now,  whilst  this  little  act  had  been  in  course  of 
performance,  there  stood  among  the  promenading  spec- 
tators a  man  of  somewhat  different  description  from 
the  rest.  Behind  the  general  throng,  in  the  rear  of  the 
chairs,  and  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  he  looked 
at  Elfride  with  quiet  and  critical  interest. 

Three  points  about  this  unobtrusive  person  showed 
promptly  to  the  exercised  eye  that  he  was  not  a  Row 
man  pur  sang.  First,  an  irrepressible  wrinkle  or  two 
in  the  waist  of  his  frock-coat — denoting  that  he  had  not 
damned  his  tailor  sufficiently  to  drive  that  tradesman  up 
to  the  orthodox  high  pressure  of  cunning  workmanship. 
Second,  a  slight  slovenliness  of  umbrella,  occasioned  by 
its  owner's  habit  of  resting  heavily  upon  it,  and  using 
it  as  a  veritable  walking-stick,  instead  of  letting  its  point 
touch  the  ground  in  the  most  coquettish  of  kisses,  as 
is  the  proper  Row  manner  to  do.  Third,  and  chief 
reason,  that  try  how  you  might,  you  could  scarcely  help 
supposing,  on  looking  at  his  face,  that  your  eyes  were 
not  far  from  a  well-finished  mind,  instead  of  the  w^ell- 
finished  skin  et  prcsterea  nihil^  which  is  by  rights  the 
Mark  of  the  Row. 

The  probabiUty  is  that,  had  not  Mrs.  Swancourt  been 
left  alone  in  her  carriage  under  the  tree,  this  man  would 
have  remained  in  his  unobserved  seclusion.  But  seeing 
her  thus,  he  came  round  to  the  front,  stooped  under  the 
rail,  and  stood  beside  the  carriage-door. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  looked  reflectively  at  him  for  a 
quarter  of  a  minute,  then  held  out  her  hand  laugh- 
ingly : 

'  Why,  Henry  Knight — of  course  it  is  !  My — second 
i68 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

— third — fourth  cousin — what  shall  I  say?  At  any 
rate,  my  kinsman.' 

'  Yes,  one  of  a  remnant  not  yet  cut  off.  I  scarcely 
was  certain  of  you,  either,  from  where  I  was  standing.' 

'  I  have  not  seen  you  since  you  first  went  to  Oxford ; 
consider  the  number  of  years  !  You  know,  I  suppose, 
of  my  marriage  ?  ' 

And  there  sprang  up  a  dialogue  concerning  family 
matters  of  birth,  death,  and  marriage,  which  it  is  not 
necessary  to  detail.     Knight  presently  inquired  : 

*  The  young  lady  who  changed  into  the  other  carriage 
is,  then,  your  stepdaughter  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  Elfride.     You  must  know  her.' 

'  And  who  was  the  lady  in  the  carriage  Elfride 
entered ;  who  had  an  ill-defined  and  watery  look,  as  if 
she  were  only  the  reflection  of  herself  in  a  pool  ? ' 

'  Lady  Luxellian ;  very  weakly,  Elfride  says.  My 
husband  is  remotely  connected  with  them;  but  there 

is  not  much  intimacy  on  account  of .     However, 

Henry,  you'll  come  and  see  us,  of  course.  24  Chevron 
Square.  Come  this  week.  We  shall  only  be  in  town 
a  week  or  two  longer.' 

*  Let  me  see.  I've  got  to  run  up  to  Oxford  to- 
morrow, where  I  shall  be  for  several  days;  so  that  I 
must,  I  fear,  lose  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  London 
this  year.' 

'Then  come  to  Endelstow;  why  not  return  with 
us?' 

'  I  am  afraid  if  I  were  to  come  before  August  I 
should  have  to  leave  again  in  a  day  or  two.  I  should 
be  delighted  to  be  with  you  at  the  beginning  of  that 
month;  and  I  could  stay  a  nice  long  time.  I  have 
thought  of  going  westward  all  the  summer.' 

'  Very  well.  Now  remember  that's  a  compact.  And 
won't  you  wait  now  and  see  Mr.  Swancourt  ?  He  will 
not  be  away  ten  minutes  longer.' 

*  No ;  I'll  beg  to  be  excused ;  for  I  must  get  to  my 
M  169 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

chambers  again  this  evening  before  I  go  home ;  indeed, 
I  ought  to  have  been  there  now — I  have  such  a  press  of 
matters  to  attend  to  just  at  present.  You  will  explain 
to  him,  please.     Good-bye.' 

'  And  let  us  know  the  day  of  your  appearance  as 
soon  as  you  can.* 

'  I  will.' 


XV 

'A  wandering  voice.' 

1  HOUGH  sheer  and  intelligible  griefs  are  not  charmed 
away  by  being  confided  to  mere  acquaintances,  the  pro- 
cess is  a  palliative  to  certain  ill -humours.  Among 
these,  perplexed  vexation  is  one — a  species  of  trouble 
which,  like  a  stream,  gets  shallower  by  the  simple 
operation  of  widening  it  in  any  quarter. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  succeeding  that  of  the 
meeting  in  the  Park,  Elfride  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  were 
engaged  in  conversation  in  the  dressing-room  of  the 
latter.  Such  a  treatment  of  such  a  case  was  in  course 
of  adoption  here. 

Elfride  had  just  before  received  an  affectionate  letter 
from  Stephen  Smith  in  Bombay,  which  had  been  for- 
warded to  her  from  Endelstow.  But  since  this  is  not 
the  case  referred  to,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  pry  further 
into  the  contents  of  the  letter  than  to  discover  that, 
with  rash  though  pardonable  confidence  in  coming 
times,  he  addressed  her  in  high  spirits  as  his  darling 
future  wife. 

Probably  there  cannot  be  instanced  a  briefer  and 
surer  rule-of-thumb  test  of  a  man's  temperament — 
sanguine  or  cautious — than  this :  did  he  or  does  he 
171 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

ante-date  the  word  wife  in  corresponding  with  a  sweet- 
heart he  honestly  loves  ? 

She  had  taken  this  epistle  into  her  own  room,  read  a 
little  of  it,  then  saved  the  rest  for  to-morrow,  not  wish- 
ing to  be  so  extravagant  as  to  consume  the  pleasure  all 
at  once.  Nevertheless,  she  could  not  resist  the  wish 
to  enjoy  yet  a  little  more,  so  out  came  the  letter  again, 
and  in  spite  of  misgivings  as  to  prodigality  the  whole 
was  devoured.  The  letter  was  finally  reperused  and 
placed  in  her  pocket. 

What  was  this?  Also  a  newspaper  for  Elfride, 
which  she  had  overlooked  in  her  hurry  to  open  the 
letter.  It  was  the  old  number  of  the  Present^  contain- 
ing the  article  upon  her  book,  forwarded  as  had  been 
requested. 

Elfride  had  hastily  read  it  through,  shrunk  percep- 
tibly smaller,  and  had  then  gone  with  the  paper  in  her 
hand  to  Mrs.  Swancourt's  dressing-room,  to  lighten  or 
at  least  modify  her  vexation  by  a  discriminating  estimate 
from  her  stepmother. 

She  was  now  looking  disconsolately  out  of  the 
window. 

'  Never  mind,  my  child,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  after 
a  careful  perusal  of  the  matter  indicated.  '  I  don't  see 
that  the  review  is  such  a  terrible  one,  after  all.  Besides, 
everybody  has  forgotten  about  it  by  this  time.  I'm 
sure  the  opening  is  good  enough  for  any  book  ever 
written.  Just  Hsten — it  sounds  better  read  aloud  than 
when  you  pore  over  it  silently :  "  The  Court  of  Kelly  on 
Castle.  A  Romance  of  the  Middle  Ages.  By  Ernest 
Field.  In  the  belief  that  we  were  for  a  while  escaping 
the  monotonous  repetition  ofwearisome  details  in  modern 
social  scenery,  analyses  of  uninterestin|g  character,  or 
the  unnatural  unfoldings  of  a  sensation  plot,  we  took 
this  volume  into  our  hands  with  a  feeling  of  pleasure. 
We  were  disposed  to  beguile  ourselves  with  the  fancy 
that  some  new  change  might  possibly  be  rung  upon 
172 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

donjon  keeps,  chain  and  plate  armour,  deeply  scarred 
cheeks,  tender  maidens  disguised  as  pages,  to  which 
we  had  not  Hstened  long  ago."  Now,  that's  a  very 
good  beginning,  in  my  opinion,  and  one  to  be  proud  of 
having  brought  out  of  a  man  who  has  never  seen  you.' 

'  Ah,  yes,'  murmured  Elfride  wofully.  '  But,  then, 
see  further  on  ! ' 

'  Well  the  next  bit  is  rather  unkind,  I  must  own,' 
said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  and  read  on.  '  "  Instead  of  this 
we  found  ourselves  in  the  hands  of  some  young  lady, 
hardly  arrived  at  years  of  discretion,  to  judge  by  the 
silly  device  it  has  been  thought  worth  while  to  adopt  on 
the  title-page,  with  the  idea  of  disguising  her  sex." ' 

'  I  am  not  "  silly  "  ! '  said  Elfride  indignantly.  *  He 
might  have  called  me  anything  but  that.' 

'You  are  not,  indeed.  Well : — "  Hands  of  a  young 
lady  .  .  .  whose  chapters  are  simply  devoted  to  im- 
possible tournaments,  towers,  and  escapades,  which 
read  hke  flat  copies  of  like  scenes  in  the  stories  of 
Mr.  G.  P.  R.  James,  and  the  most  unreal  portions  of 
Ivanhoe.  The  bait  is  so  palpably  artificial  that  the 
most  credulous  gudgeon  turns  away."  Now,  my  dear, 
I  don't  see  overmuch  to  complain  of  in  that.  It 
proves  that  you  were  clever  enough  to  make  him  think 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  which  is  a  great  deal.' 

'  Oh  yes  j  though  I  cannot  romance  myself,  I  am 
able  to  remind  him  of  those  who  can  ! '  ''Elfride  in- 
tended to  hurl  these  words  sarcastically  at  her  invisible 
enemy,  but  as  she  had  no  more  satirical  power  than 
a  wood-pigeon,  they  merely  fell  in  a  pretty  murmur 
from  Hps  shaped  to  a  pout. 

'Certainly:  and  that's  something.  Your  book  is 
good  enough  to  be  bad  in  an  ordinary  literary  manner, 
and  doesn't  stand  by  itself  in  a  melancholy  position 
altogether  worse  than  assailable. — "  That  interest  in  an 
historical  romance  may  nowadays  have  any  chance  of 
being  sustained,  it  is  indispensable  that  the  reader  find 
173 


A  PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

himself  under  the  guidance  of  some  nearly  extinct 
species  of  legendary,  who,  in  addition  to  an  impulse 
towards  antiquarian  research  and  an  unweakened  faith 
in  the  mediaeval  halo,  shall  possess  an  inventive  faculty 
in  which  deUcacy  of  sentiment  is  far  overtopped  by  a 
power  of  welding  to  stirring  incident  a  spirited  variety 
of  the  elementary  human  passions."  Well,  that  long- 
winded  effusion  doesn't  refer  to  you  at  all,  Elfride, 
merely  something  put  in  to  fill  up.  Let  me  see, 
when  does  he  come  to  you  again ;  .  .  .  not  till  the 
very  end,  actually.     Here  you  are  finally  poUshed  off: 

'  "  But  to  return  to  the  little  work  we  have  used 
as  the  text  of  this  article.  We  are  far  from  altogether 
disparaging  the  author's  powers.  She  has  a  certain 
versatihty  that  enables  her  to  use  with  effect  a  style 
of  narration  peculiar  to  herself,  which  may  be  called  a 
murmuring  of  delicate  emotional  trifles,  the  particular 
gift  of  those  to  whom  the  social  sympathies  of  a 
peaceful  time  are  as  daily  food.  Hence,  where  matters 
of  domestic  experience,  and  the  natural  touches  which 
make  people  real,  can  be  introduced  without  anachro- 
nisms too  striking,  she  is  occasionally  felicitous ;  and 
upon  the  whole  we  feel  justified  in  saying  that  the 
book  -will  bear  looking  into  for  the  sake  of  those 
portions  which  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
story." 

'  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  intended  for  satire ;  but  don't 
think  anything  more  of  it  now,  my  dear.  It  is  seven 
o'clock.'     And  Mrs.  Swancourt  rang  for  her  maid. 

Attack  is  more  piquant  than  concord.  Stephen's 
letter  Vvas  concerning  nothing  but  oneness  with  her : 
the  review  was  the  very  reverse.  And  a  stranger  with 
neither  name  nor  shape,  age  nor  appearance,  but  a 
mighty  voice,  is  naturally  rather  an  interesting  novelty 
to  a  lady  he  chooses  to  address.  When  Elfride  fell 
asleep  that  night  she  was  loving  the  writer  of  the 
letter,  but  thinking  of  the  writer  of  that  article. 

174 


XVI 

•Then  fancy  shapes— as  fancy  can.* 

vJN  a  day  about  three  weeks  later,  the  Swancourt  trio 
were  sitting  quietly  in  the  drawing-room  of  The  Crags, 
Mrs.  Swancourt's  house  at  Endelstow,  chatting,  and 
taking  easeful  survey  of  their  previous  month  or  two 
of  town — a  tangible  weariness  even  to  people  whose 
acquaintances  there  might  be  counted  on  the  fingers. 

A  mere  season  in  London  with  her  practised  step- 
mother had  so  advanced  Elfride's  perceptions,  that  her 
courtship  by  Stephen  seemed  emotionally  meagre,  and 
to  have  drifted  back  several  years  into  a  childish  past. 
In  regarding  our  mental  experiences,  as  in  visual  obser- 
vation, our  own  progress  reads  like  a  dwindling  of  that 
we  progress  from. 

She  was  seated  on  a  low  chair,  looking  over  her 
romance  with  melancholy  interest  for  the  first  time 
since  she  had  become  acquainted  with  the  remarks  of 
the  Present  thereupon. 

'  Still  thinking  of  that  reviewer,  Elfie  ? ' 

'  Not  of  him  personally ;  but  I  am  thinking  of  his 
opinion.  Really,  on  looking  into  the  volume  after  this 
long  time  has  elapsed,  he  seems  to  have  estimated  one 
part  of  it  fairly  enough.' 

175 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  No,  no ;  I  wouldn't  show  the  white  feather  now ! 
Fancy  that  of  all  people  in  the  world  the  writer  herself 
should  go  over  to  the  enemy.  How  shall  Monmouth's 
men  fight  when  Monmouth  runs  away  ? ' 

'  I  don't  do  that.  But  I  think  he  is  right  in  some 
of  his  arguments,  though  wrong  in  others.  And  because 
he  has  some  claim  to  my  respect  I  regret  all  the  more 
that  he  should  think  so  mistakenly  of  my  motives  in 
one  or  two  instances.  It  is  more  vexing  to  be  mis- 
understood than  to  be  misrepresented;  and  he  mis- 
understands me.  I  cannot  be  easy  whilst  a  person 
goes  to  rest  night  after  night  attributing  to  me  intentions 
I  never  had.' 

'  He  doesn't  know  your  name,  or  anything  about 
you.  And  he  has  doubtless  forgotten  there  is  such  a 
book  in  existence  by  this  time.' 

'  I  myself  should  certainly  like  him  to  be  put  right 
upon  one  or  two  matters,'  said  the  vicar,  who  had 
hitherto  been  silent.  '  You  see,  critics  go  on  writing, 
and  are  never  corrected  or  argued  with,  and  therefore 
are  never  improved.' 

'  Papa,'  said  Elfride  brightening,  '  write  to  him  ! ' 

*  I  would  as  soon  write  to  him  as  look  at  him,  for 
the  matter  of  that,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt. 

'  Do  !  And  say,  the  young  person  who  wrote  the 
book  did  not  adopt  a  masculine  pseudonym  in  vanity  or 
conceit,  but  because  she  was  afraid  it  would  be  thought 
presumptuous  to  publish  her  name,  and  that  she  did 
not  mean  the  story  for  such  as  he,  but  as  a  sweetener 
of  history  for  young  people,  who  might  thereby  acquire 
a  taste  for  what  went  on  in  their  own  country  hundreds 
of  years  ago,  and  be  tempted  to  dive  deeper  into  the 
subject.  Oh,  there  is  so  much  to  explain ;  I  wish  I 
might  write  myself ! ' 

'  Now,  Elfie,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do,'  answered 
Mr.  Swancourt,  tickled  with  a  sort  of  bucolic  humour  at 
the  idea  of  criticizing  the  critic.     '  You  shall  write  a  clear 

176 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

account  of  what  he  is  wrong  in,  and  I  will  copy  it  .and 
send  it  as  mine.' 

*  Yes,    now,    directly ! '    said    Elfride,   jumping    up. 

*  When  will  you  send  it,  papa  ?  ' 

*  Oh,  in  a  day  or  two,  I  suppose,'  he  returned.  Then 
the  vicar  paused  and  slightly  yawned,  and  in  the  manner 
of  elderly  people  began  to  cool  from  his  ardour  for  the 
undertaking  now  that  it  came  to  the  point.  '  But,  really, 
it  is  hardly  worth  while,'  he  said. 

'  O  papa  ! '  said  Elfride,  with  much  disappointment. 

*  You  said  you  would,  and  now  you  won't.     That  is  not 
feir!' 

*  But  how  can  we  send  it  if  we  don't  know  whom  to 
send  it  to  ? ' 

*  If  you  really  want  to  send  such  a  thing  it  can  easily 
be  done,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  coming  to  her  step- 
daughter's rescue.  *  An  envelope  addressed,  "  To  the 
Critic  of  The  Court  of  Kellyon  Castle^  care  of  the  Editor 
of  the  Present"  would  find  him/ 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  it  would.' 

'  Why  not  write  your  answer  yourself,  Elfride  ?  '  Mrs. 
Swancourt  inquired. 

'  I  might,'  she  said  hesitatingly ;  '  and  send  it  anony- 
mously :  that  would  be  treating  him  as  he  has  treated 
me.' 

*  No  use  in  the  world  ! ' 

*  But  I  don't  like  to  let  him  know  my  exact  name. 
Suppose  I  put  my  initials  only?  The  less  you  are 
known  the  more  you  are  thought  of.' 

*  Yes  ;  you  might  do  that.' 

Elfride  set  to  work  there  and  then.  Her  one  desire 
for  the  last  fortnight  seemed  likely  to  be  realized.  As 
happens  with  sensitive  and  secluded  minds,  a  continual 
dweUing  upon  the  subject  had  magnified  to  colossal 
proportions  the  space  she  assumed  herself  to  occupy 
or  to  have  occupied  in  the  occult  critic's  mind.  At 
noon  and  at  night  she  had  been  pestering  herself  with 
177  M 


f 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

endeavours  to  perceive  more  distinctly  his  conception 
of  her  as  a  woman  apart  from  an  author :  whether  he 
really  despised  her ;  whether  he  thought  more  or  less  of 
her  than  of  ordinary  young  women  who  never  ventured 
into  the  fire  of  criticism  at  all.  Now  she  would  have  the 
satisfaction  of  feeling  that  at  any  rate  he  knew  her  true 
intent  in  crossing  his  path,  and  annoying  him  so  by 
her  performance,  and  be  taught  perhaps  to  despise  it  a 
little  less. 

Four  days  later  an  envelope,  directed  to  Miss  Swan- 
court  in  a  strange  hand,  made  its  appearance  from  the 
post-bag. 

'  Oh,'  said  Elfride,  her  heart  sinking  within  her. 
*  Can  it  be  from  that  man — a  lecture  for  impertinence  ? 
And  actually  one  for  Mrs.  SwanCourt  in  the  same  hand- 
writing ! '  She  feared  to  open  hers.  *  Yet  how  can  he 
know  my  name  ?     No  ;  it  is  somebody  else.' 

'Nonsense!'  said  her  father  grimly.  <You  sent 
your  initials,  and  the  Directory  was  available.  Though 
he  wouldn't  have  taken  the  trouble  to  look  there  unless 
he  had  been  thoroughly  savage  with  you.  I  thought  you 
wrote  with  rather  more  asperity  than  simple  literary 
discussion  required.'  This  timely  clause  was  introduced 
to  save  the  character  of  the  vicar's  judgment  under  any 
issue  of  affairs. 

'  Well,  here  I  go,'  said  Elfride,  desperately  tearing 
open  the  seal. 

'  To  be  sure,  of  course,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Swancourt ; 
and  looking  up  from  her  own  letter.  '  Christopher,  I 
quite  forgot  to  tell  you,  when  I  mentioned  that  I  had 
seen  my  distant  relative,  Harry  Knight,  that  I  invited 
him  here  for  whatever  length  of  time  he  could  spare. 
And  now  he  says  he  can  come  any  day  in  August.' 

'  Write,  and  say  the  first  of  the  month,'  replied  the 
indiscriminate  vicar. 

She  read  on.  '  Goodness  me — and  that  isn't  all. 
He  is  actually  the  reviewer  of  Elfride's  book.     How 

178 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

absurd,  to  be  sure !  I  had  no  idea  he  reviewed  novels 
or  had  anything  to  do  with  the  Present.  He  is  a 
barrister — and  I  thought  he  only  wrote  in  the  Quar- 
terlies. Why,  Elfride,  you  have  brought  about  an  odd 
entanglement !      ^^'hat  does  he  say  to  you  ?  ' 

Elfride  had  put  down  her  letter  with  a  dissatisfied 
flush  on  her  face.  '  I  don't  know.  The  idea  of  his 
knowing  my  name  and  all  about  me !  .  .  .  Why,  he 
says  nothing  particular,  only  this — 

*  "  My  dear  Madam, — Though  I  am  sorry  that  my 
remarks  should  have  seemed  harsh  to  you,  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  find  that  they  have  been  the  means  of 
bringing  forth  such  an  ingeniously  argued  reply.  Un- 
fortunately, it  is  so  long  since  I  wrote  my  review,  that 
my  memory  does  not  serve  me  sufficiently  to  say  a 
single  word  in  my  defence,  even  supposing  there  remains 
one  to  be  said,  which  is  doubtful.  You  will  find  from  a 
letter  I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Swancourt,  that  we  are  not 
such  strangers  to  each  other  as  we  have  been  imagining. 
Possibly,  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  soon, 
when  any  argument  you  choose  to  advance  shall  receive 
all  the  attention  it  deserves." 

'  That  is  dim  sarcasm — I  know  it  is.' 
'  Oh  no,  Elfride.' 

*  And  then,  his  remarks  didn't  seem  harsh — I  mean 
I  did  not  say  so.' 

'  He  thinks  you  are  in  a  frightful  temper,'  said  Mr. 
Swancourt,  chuckling  in  undertones. 

'And  he  will  come  and  see  me,  and  find  the 
a  thoress  as  contemptible  in  speech  as  she  has  been 
impertinent  in  manner.  I  do  heartily  wish  I  had  never 
written  a  word  to  him  ! ' 

'Never  mind,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  also  laughing 
in  low  quiet  jerks ;  '  it  will  make  the  meeting  such  a 
comical  affair,  and  afford  splendid  by-play  for  your 
179 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

father  and  myself.  The  idea  of  our  running  our  heads 
against  Harry  Knight  all  the  time !  I  cannot  get 
over  that.' 

The  vicar  had  immediately  remembered  the  name  to 
be  that  of  Stephen  Smith's  preceptor  and  friend;  but 
having  ceased  to  concern  himself  in  the  matter  he 
made  no  remark  to  that  effect,  consistently  forbearing 
to  allude  to  anything  which  could  restore  recollection 
of  the  (to  him)  disagreeable  mistake  with  regard  to  poor 
Stephen's  lineage  and  position.  Elfride  had  of  course 
perceived  the  same  thing,  which  added  to  the  compli- 
cation of  relationship  a  mesh  that  her  stepmother  knew 
nothing  of. 

The  identification  scarcely  heightened  Knight's  at- 
tractions now,  though  a  twelvemonth  ago  she  would 
only  have  cared  to  see  him  for  the  interest  he  pos- 
sessed as  Stephen's  friend.  Fortunately  for  Knight's 
advent,  such  a  reason  for  welcome  had  only  begun  to 
be  awkward  to  her  at  a  time  when  the  interest  he 
had  acquired  on  his  own  account  made  it  no  longer 
necessary. 

These  coincidences,  in  common  with  all  relating  to 
him,  tended  to  keep  Elfride's  mind  upon  the  stretch 
concerning  Knight.  As  was  her  custom  when  upon 
the  horns  of  a  dilemma,  she  walked  off  by  herself  among 
the  laurel  bushes,  and  there,  standing  still  and  spHtting 
up  a  leaf  without  removing  it  from  its  stalk,  fetched 
back  recollections  of  Stephen's  frequent  words  in  praise 
of  his  friend,  and  wished  she  had  listened  more  atten- 
tively. Then,  still  pulling  the  leaf,  she  would  blush 
at  some  fancied  mortification  that 'would  accrue  to  her 
from  his  words  when  they  met,  in  consequence  of 
her  intrusiveness,  as  she  now  considered  it,  in  writing 
to  him. 

The  next  development  of  her  meditations  was  the 
subject  of  what  this  man's  personal  appearance  might 
i8o 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

be — was  he  tall  or  short,  dark  or  fair,  gay  or  grim? 
She  would  have  asked  Mrs.  Swancourt  but  for  the 
risk  she  might  thereby  incur  of  some  teasing  remark 
being  returned.  '  Ultimately  Elfride  would  say,  '  Oh, 
what  a  plague  that  reviewer  is  to  me ! '  and  turn  her 
face  to  where  she  imagined  India  lay,  and  murmur  to 
herself,  '  Ah,  my  little  husband,  what  are  you  doing 
now  ?  Let  me  see,  where  are  you — south,  east,  where  ? 
Behind  that  hill,  ever  so  far  behind ! ' 


V 


XVII 

'  Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase/ 

There  is  Henry  Knight,  I  declare!'  said  Mrs. 
Swancourt  one  day. 

They  were  gazing  from  the  jutting  angle  ot  a  wild 
enclosure  not  far  from  The  Crags,  which  almost  over- 
hung the  valley  already  described  as  leading  up  from 
the  sea  and  little  port  of  Castle  Boterel.  Tlie  stony 
escarpment  upon  which  they  stood  had  the  contour  of 
a  man's  face,  and  it  was  covered  with  furze  as  with  a 
beard.  People  in  the  field  above  were  preserved  from 
an  accidental  roll  down  these  prominences  and  hollows 
by  a  hedge  on  the  very  crest,  which  was  doing  that 
kindly  service  for  Elfride  and  her  mother  now. 

Scrambling  higher  into  the  hedge  and  stretching  her 
neck  further  over  the  furze,  Elfride  beheld  the  individual 
signified.  He  was  walking  leisurely  along  the  httle 
green  path  at  the  bottom,  beside  the  stream,  a  satchel 
slung  upon  his  left  hip,  a  stout  walking-stick  in  his 
hand,  and  a  brown-holland  sun-hat  upon  his  head. 
The  satchel  was  worn  and  old,  and  the  outer  polished 
surface  of  the  leather  was  cracked  and  peeling  off. 

Knight  having  arrived  over  the  hills  to  Castle 
Boterel  upon  the  top  of  a  crazy  omnibus,  preferred  to 
182 


<'j^m 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

walk  the  remaining  two  miles  up  the  valley,  leaving 
his  luggage  to  be  brought  on. 

Behind  him  wandered,  helter-skelter,  a  boy  of  whom 
Knight  had  briefly  inquired  the  way  to  Endelstow ; 
and  by  that  natural  law  of  physics  which  causes  lesser 
bodies  to  gravitate  towards  the  greater,  this  boy  had 
kept  near  to  Knight,  and  trotted  like  a  little  dog  close 
at  his  heels,  whistling  as  he  went,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  Knight's  boots  as  they  rose  and  fell. 

When  they  had  reached  a  point  precisely  opposite 
that  in  which  Mrs.  and  Miss  Swancourt  lay  in  ambush. 
Knight  stopped  and  turned  round. 

'  Look  here,  my  boy,'  he  said. 

The  boy  parted  his  lips,  opened  his  eyes,  and 
answered  nothing. 

'  Here's  sixpence  for  you,  on  condition  that  you 
don't  again  come  within  twenty  yards  of  my  heels,  all 
the  way  up  the  valley.' 

The  boy,  who  apparently  had  not  known  he  had 
been  looking  at  Knight's  heels  at  all,  took  the  sixpence 
mechaniqilly,  and  Knight  went  on  again,  wrapt  in 
meditation. 

*  A  nice  voice,'  Elfride  thought ;  '  but  what  a  singular 
temper ! ' 

'  Now  we  must  get  indoors  before  he  ascends  the 
slope,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  softly.  And  they  went 
across  by  a  short  cut  over  a  stile,  entering  the  lawn 
by  a  side  door,  and  so  on  to  the  house. 

Mr.  Swancourt  had  gone  into  the  village  with  the 
curate,  and  Elfride  felt  too  nervous  to  await  their 
visitor's  arrival  in  the  drawing-room  with  Mrs.  Swan- 
court. So  that  when  the  elder  lady  entered,  Elfride 
made  som.e  pretence  of  perceiving  a  new  variety  of 
crimson  geranium,  and  lingered  behind  among  the 
flower  beds. 

There  was  notking  gained  by  this,  after  all,  she 
thought;  and  a  few  minutes  after  boldly  came  into 
183 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

the  house  by  the  glass  side-door.  She  walked  along 
the  corridor,  and  entered  the  drawing-room.  Nobody 
was  there. 

A  window  at  the  angle  of  the  room  opened  directly 
into  an  octagonal  conservatory,  enclosing  the  corner  of 
the  building.  From  the  conservatory  came  voices  in 
conversation — Mrs.  Swancourt's  and  the  stranger's. 

She  had  expected  him  to  talk  brilliantly.  To  her 
surprise  he  was  asking  questions  in  quite  a  learner's 
manner,  on  subjects  connected  with  the  flowers  and 
shrubs  that  she  had  known  for  years.  When  after 
the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  he  spoke  at  some  length, 
she  considered  there  was  a  hard  square  decisiveness 
in  the  shape  of  his  sentences,  as  if,  unlike  her  own 
and  Stephen's,  they  were  not  there  and  then  newly 
constructed,  but  were  drawn  forth  from  a  large  store 
ready-made.  They  were  now  approaching  the  window 
to  come  in  again. 

*  That  is  a  flesh-coloured  variety,'  said  Mrs.  Swan- 
court.  '  But  oleanders,  though  they  are  such  bulky 
shrubs,  are  so  very  easily  wounded  as  to  be  unprunable 
— giants  with  the  sensitiveness  of  young  ladies.  Oh, 
here  is  Elfride  ! ' 

Elfride  looked  as  guilty  and  crestfallen  as  Lady 
Teazle  at  the  dropping  of  the  screen.  Mrs.  Swancourt 
presented  him  half  comically,  and  Knight  in  a  minute 
or  two  placed  himself  beside  the  young  lady. 

A  complexity  of  instincts  checked  Elfride's  conven- 
tional smiles  of  complaisance  and  hospitahty;  and,  to 
make  her  still  less  comfortable,  Mrs.  Swancourt  im- 
mediately afterwards  left  them  together  to  seek  her 
husband.  Mr.  Knight,  however,  did  not  seem  at  all 
incommoded  by  his  feelings,  and  he  said  with  light 
easefulness  : 

'  So,  Miss  Swancourt,  I  have  met  you  at  last.  You 
escaped  me  by  a  few  minutes  only  when  we  were  in 
London.' 

184 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Yes.     I  found  that  you  had  seen  Mrs.  Swancourt.' 

*  And  now  reviewer  and  reviewed  are  face  to  face,' 
he  added  unconcernedly. 

'  Yes :  though  the  fact  of  your  being  a  relation  of 
Mrs.  Swancourt's  takes  off  the  edge  of  it.  It  was 
strange  that  you  should  be  one  of  her  family  all  the 
time.'  Elfride  began  to  recover  herself  now,  and  to 
look  into  Knight's  face.  *  I  was  merely  anxious  to 
let  you  know  my  real  meaning  in  writing  the  book — 
extremely  anxious.' 

'  I  can  quite  understand  the  wish ;  and  I  was 
gratified  that  my  remarks  should  have  reached  home. 
They  very  seldom  do,  I  am  afraid.' 

Elfride  drew  herself  in.  Her&Jie..was,  sticking  to 
his  opinions  as  firmly  as  if  friendship  and  politeness 
did  not  in  the  least  require  an  immediate  renunciation 
of  them. 

'  You  made  me  very  uneasy  and  sorry  by  writing 
such  things ! '  she  murmured,  suddenly  dropping  the 
mere  caqueterie  of  a  fashionable  first  introduction,  and 
speaking  with  some  of  the  dudgeon  of  a  child  towards 
a  severe  schoobnaster. 

'  That  is  rather  the  object  of  honest  critics  in  such  a 
case.  Not  to  cause  unnecessary  sorrow,  but :  "  To  make 
you  sorry  after  a  proper  manner,  that  ye  may  receive 
damage  by  us  in  nothing,"  as  a  powerful  pen  once  wrote  to 
the  Gentiles.    Are  you  going  to  write  another  romance?' 

'Write  another?'  she  said.  *That  somebody  may 
pen  a  condemnation  and  "  nail't  wi'  Scripture "  again, 
as  you  do  now,  Mr.  Knight  ? ' 

'You  may  do  better  next  time,'  he  said  placidly: 
'  I  think  you  will.  But  I  would  advise  you  to  confine 
yourself  to  domestic  scenes.' 

'  Thank  you.     But  never  again  ! ' 

'  Well,  you  may  be  right.  That  a  young  woman  has 
taken  to  writing  is  not  by  any  means  the  best  thing  to 
hear  about  her.' 

N  185 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

'  What  is  the  best  ? ' 

'  I  prefer  not  to  say.' 

'  Do  you  know  ?     Then,  do  tell  me,  please.' 

'Well' — (Knight  was  evidently  changing  his  mean- 
ing)— '  I  suppose  to  hear  that  she  has  married.' 

Elfride  hesitated.  *  And  what  when  she  has  been 
married  ? '  she  said  at  last,  partly  in  order  to  withdraw 
her  own  person  from  the  argument. 

'  Then  to  hear  no  more  about  her.  It  is  as  Smeaton 
said  of  his  lighthouse :  her  greatest  real  praise,  when 
the  novelty  of  her  inauguration  has  worn  off,  is  that 
nothing  happens  to  keep  «the  talk  of  her  alive.' 

'  Yes,  I  see,'  said  Elfride  softly  and  thoughtfully. 
*  But  of  course  it  is  different  quite  with  men.  Why 
don't  you  write  novels,  Mr.  Knight  ? ' 

'  Because  I  couldn't  write  one  that  would  interest 
anybody.' 

'Why?' 
/       '  For  several  reasons.     It  requires  a  judicious  omis- 
N<^  sion  of  your  real  thoughts  to  make  a  novel  popular,  for 
one  thing.' 

'  Is  that  really  necessary  ?     Well,  I  am  sure  you  could 

learn   to   do  that  with   practice,'   said   Elfride  with  an 

ex-cathedra  air,  as  became  a   person  who   spoke  from 

experience  in  the  art.     '  You  would  make  a  great  name 

,   for  certain,'  she  continued. 

\  '  '  So  many  people  make  a  name  nowadays,  that  it  is 

A     more  distinguished  to  remain  in  obscurity.' 

'  Tell  me  seriously — apart  from  the  subject — why 
don't  you  write  a  volume  instead  of  loose  articles  ? '  she 
insisted. 

'  Since  you  are  pleased  to  make  me  talk  of  myself, 
I  will  tell  you  seriously,'  said  Knight,  not  less  amused 
at  this  catechism  by  his  young  friend  than  he  was 
interested  in  her  appearance.  '  As  I  have  implied,  I 
have  not  the  wish.  And  if  I  had  the  wish,  I  could  not 
now  concentrate  sufficiently.  We  all  have  only  our  one 
i86 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

cruse  of  energy  given  us  to  make  the  best  of.  And 
where  that  energy  has  been  leaked  away  week  by  week, 
quarter  by  quarter,  as  mine  has  for  the  last  nine  or  ten 
years,  there  is  not  enough  dammed  back  behind  the  mill 
at  any  given  period  to  supply  the  force  a  com.plete  book 
on  any  subject  requires.  Then  there  is  the  self-con 
fidence  and  waiting  power.  Where  quick  results  have 
grown  customary,  they  are  fatal  to  a  lively  faith  in  the. 
future.' 

*  Yes,  I  comprehend ;  and  so  you  choose  to  write  in 
fragments  ? ' 

'  No,  I  don't  choose  to  do-4t  in  the  sense  you  mean ; 
choosing  from  a  whole  world  of  professions,  all  possible. 
It  was  by  the  constraint  of  accident  merely.  Not  that 
I  object  to  the  accident.' 

'  Why  don't  you  object — I  mean,  why  do  you  feel 
so  quiet  about  things  ? '  Elfride  was  half  afraid  to 
question  him  so,  but  her  intense  curiosity  to  see  what 
the  inside  of  literary  Mr.  Knight  was  Hke,  kept  her 
going  on. 

Knight  certainly  did  not  mind  being  frank  with  her. 
Instances  of  this  trait  in  men  who  are  not  without  feel- 
ing, but  are  reticent  from  habit,  m.ay  be  recalled  by  all  of 
us.  When  they  find  a  Hstener  who  can  by  no  possi- 
bihty  make  use  of  them,  rival  them,  or  condemn  them, 
reserved  and  even  suspicious  men  of  the  world  become 
frank,  keenly  enjoying  the  inner  side  of  their  frankness. 

'Why  I  don't  mind  the  accidental  constraint,'  he 
repHed,  'is  because,  in  making  beginnings,  a  chance 
Hmitation  of  direction  is  often  better  than  absolute 
freedom.' 

i  I  see — that  is,  I  should  if  I  quite  understood  what 
all  those  generahties  mean.' 

'  ^Vhy,  this :  That  an  arbitrary  foundation  for  one's 
work,  which  no  length  of  thought  can  alter,  leaves  the 
attention  free  to  fix  itself  on  the  work  itself,  and  make 
the  best  of  it.' 

187 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Lateral  compression  forcing  altitude,  as  would  be 
said  in  that  tongue,'  she  said  mischievously.  '  And  I 
suppose  where  no  limit  exists,  as  in  the  case  of  a  rich 
man  with  a  wide  taste  who  wants  to  do  something,  it 
will  be  better  to  choose  a  limit  capriciously  than  to 
have  none.' 

'Yes,'  he  said  meditatively.  '  I  can  go  as  far  as 
that.' 

'  Well,'  resumed  Elfride,  '  I  think  it  better  for  a 
man's  nature  if  he  does  nothing  in  particular.' 

'  There  is  such  a  case  as  being  obliged  to.' 

'  Yes,  yes ;  I  was  speaking  of  when  you  are  not 
obliged  for  any  other  reason  than  delight  in  the  prospect 
of  fame.  I  have  thought  many  times  lately  that  a  thin 
widespread  happiness,  commencing  now,  and  of  a  piece 
with  the  days  of  your  life,  is  preferable  to  an  anticipated 
heap  far  away  in  the  future,  and  none  now.' 

'  Why,  that's  the  very  thing  I  said  just  now  as  being 
the  principle  of  all  ephemeral  doers  like  myself.' 

'  Oh,  I  am  sorry  to  have  parodied  you,'  she  said  with 
some  confusion.  'Yes,  of  course.  That  is  what  you 
meant  about  not  trying  to  be  famous.'  And  she  added, 
with  the  quickness  of  conviction  characteristic  of  her 
mind :  '  There  is  much  littleness  in  trying  to  be  great. 
A  man  must  think  a  good  deal  of  himself,  and  be 
conceited  enough  to  believe  in  himself,  before  he  tries 
at  all.' 

'  But  it  is  soon  enough  to  say  there  is  harm  in  a 
man's  thinking  a  good  deal  of  himself  when  it  is  proved 
he  has  been  thinking  wrong,  and  too  soon  then  some- 
times. Besides,  we  should  not  conclude  that  a  man 
who  strives  earnestly  for  success  does  so  with  a  strong 
sense  of  his  own  merit.  He  may  see  how  little  success 
has  to  do  with  merit,  and  his  motive  may  be  his  very 
humility.' 

This  manner  of  treating  her  rather  provoked  Elfride. 
No  sooner  did  she  agree  with  him  than  he  ceased  to 
i88 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

seem  to  wish  it,  and  took  the  other  side.  'Ah,'  she 
thought  inwardly,  '  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  a 
man  of  this  kind,  though  he  is  our  visitor.' 

'  I  think  you  will  find,'  resumed  Knight,  pursuing 
the  conversation  more  for  the  sake  of  finishing  off  his 
thoughts  on  the  subject  than  for  engaging  her  attention, 
'  that  in  actual  Hfe  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  instinct  with 
men — this  trying  to  push  on.  They  awake  to  a  recog- 
nition that  they  have,  without  premeditation,  begun  to 
try  a  little,  and  they  say  to  themselves,  "  Since  I  have 
tried  thus  much,  I  will  try  a  Httle  more."  They  go  on 
because  they  have  begun.' 

Elfride,  in  her  turn,  was  not  particularly  attending 
to  his  words  at  this  moment.  She  had,  unconsciously 
to  herself,  a  way  of  seizing  any  point  in  the  remarks  of 
an  interlocutor  which  interested  her,  and  dweUing  upon 
it,  and  thinking  thoughts  of  her  own  thereupon,  totally 
obHvious  of  all  that  he  might  say  in  continuation.  On 
such  occasions  she  artlessly  surveyed  the  person  speak- 
ing; and  then  there  was  a  time  for  a  painter.  Her 
eyes  seemed  to  look  at  you,  and  past  you,  as  you  were 
then,  into  your  future;  and  past  your  future  into  your 
eternity — not  reading  it,  but  gazing  in  an  unused,  un- 
conscious way — her  mind  still  clinging  to  its  original 
thought. 

This  is  how  she  was  looking  at  Knight. 

Suddenly  Elfride  became  conscious  of  what  she  was 
doing,  and  was  painfully  confused. 

'  What  were  you  so  intent  upon  in  me  ? '  he  in- 
quired. 

'  As  far  as  I  was  thinking  of  you  at  all,  I  was  think- 
ing how  clever  you  are,'  she  said,  w^ith  a  want  of 
premeditation  that  was  startling  in  its  honesty  and 
simplicity. 

Peeling   restless   now   that   she  had   so   unwittingly 
spoken,  she  arose  and  stepped  to  the  window,  having 
heard   the   voices   of   her  father    and   Mrs.    Swancourt 
i8q 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

coming  up  below  the  terrace.  '  Here  they  are,'  she  said, 
going  out.  Knight  walked  out  upon  the  lawn  behind 
her.  She  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  close  to 
the  stone  balustrade,  and  looked  towards  the  sun, 
hanging  over  a  glade  just  now  fair  as  Tempe's  vale,  up 
which  her  father  was  walking. 

Knight  could  not  help  looking  at  her.  The  sun 
was  within  ten  degrees  of  the  horizon,  and  its  warm 
light  flooded  her  face  and  heightened  the  bright  rose 
colour  of  her  cheeks  to  a  vermilion  red,  their  moderate 
pink  hue  being  only  seen  in  its  natural  tone  where  the 
cheek  curved  round  into  shadow.  The  ends  of  her 
hanging  hair  softly  dragged  themselves  backwards  and 
forwards  upon  her  shoulder  as  each  faint  breeze  thrust 
against  or  relinquished  it.  Fringes  and  ribbons  of  her 
dress,  moved  by  the  same  breeze,  licked  like  tongues 
upon  the  parts  around  them,  and  fluttering  forward 
from  shady  folds  caught  likewise  their  share  of  the 
lustrous  orange  glow. 

Mr.  Swancourt  shouted  out  a  welcome  to  Knight 
from  a  distance  of  about  thirty  yards,  and  after  a  few 
preliminary  words  proceeded  to  a  conversation  of  deep 
earnestness  on  Knight's  fine  old  family  name,  and 
theories  as  to  lineage  and  intermarriage  connected 
therewith.  Knight's  portmanteau  having  in  the  mean- 
time arrived,  they  soon  retired  to  prepare  for  dinner, 
which  had  been  postponed  two  hours  later  than  the 
usual  time  of  that  meal. 

An  arrival  was  an  event  in  the  life  of  Elfride,  now 
that  they  were  again  in  the  country,  and  that  of  Knight 
necessarily  an  engrossing  one.  And  that  evening  she 
went  to  bed  for  the  first  time  without  thinking  of 
Stephen  at  all. 


190 


'  He  heard  her  musical  pants.' 

1  HE  old  tower  of  West  Endelstow  Church  had 
reached  the  last  weeks  of  its  existence.  It  was  to 
be  replaced  by  a  new  one  from  the  designs  of  Mr. 
Hewby,  the  architect  who  had  sent  down  Stephen. 
Planks  and  poles  had  arrived  in  the  churchyard,  iron 
bars  had  been  thrust  into  the  venerable  crack  ex- 
tending down  the  belfry  wall  to  the  foundation,  the 
bells  had  been  taken  down,  the  owls  had  forsaken  this 
home  of  their  forefathers,  and  six  iconoclasts  in  white 
fustian,  to  whom  a  cracked  edifice  was  a  species  of 
Mumbo  Jumbo,  had  taken  lodgings  in  the  village  pre- 
vious to  beginning  the  actual  removal  of  the  stones. 

This  was  the  day  after  Knight's  arrival.  To  enjoy 
for  the  last  time  the  prospect  seaward  from  the  summit, 
the  vicar,  Mrs.  Swancourt,  Knight,  and  Elfride,  all 
ascended  the  winding  turret — Mr.  Swancourt  stepping 
forward  with  many  loud  breaths,  his  wife  struggling 
along  silently,  but  suffering  none  the  less.  They 
had  hardly  reached  the  top  when  a  large  lurid  cloud, 
palpably  a  reservoir  of  rain,  thunder,  and  lightning, 
was  seen  to  be  advancing  overhead  from  the  north. 

The    two  cautious   elders  suggested  an  immediate 
191 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

return,  and  proceeded  to  put  it  in  practice  as  regarded 
themselves. 

'  Dear  me,  I  wish  I  had  not  come  up,'  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Swancourt. 

*  We  shall  be  slower  than  you  two  in  going  down,' 
the  vicar  said  over  his  shoulder,  'and  so,  don't  you 
start  till  we  are  nearly  at  the  bottom,  or  you  will  run 
over  us  and  break  our  necks  somewhere  in  the  darkness 
of  the  turret.' 

Accordingly  Elfride  and  Knight  waited  on  the  leads 
till  the  staircase  should  be  clear.  Knight  was  not  in 
a  talkative  mood  that  morning.  Elfride  was  rather 
wilful,  by  reason^  of  his  inattention,  which  she  privately 
set  down  to  his  thinking  her  not  worth  talking  to. 
Whilst  Knight  stood  watching  the  rise  of  the  cloud, 
she  sauntered  to  the  other  side  of  the  tower,  and  there 
remembered  a  giddy  feat  she  had  performed  the  year 
before.  It  was  to  walk  round  upon  the  parapet  of 
the  tower  —  which  was  quite  without  battlement  or 
pinnacle,  and  presented  a  smooth  flat  surface  about 
two  feet  wide,  forming  a  pathway  on  all  the  four 
sides.  Without  reflecting  in  the  least  upon  what  she 
was  doing  she  now  stepped  upon  the  parapet  in  the 
old  way,  and  began  walking  along. 

'  We  are  down,  cousin  Henry,'  cried  Mrs.  Swan- 
court  up  the  turret.     *  Follow  us  when  you  like.' 

Knight  turned  and  saw  Elfride  beginning  her  ele- 
vated promenade.  His  face  flushed  with  mingled 
concern  and  anger  at  her  rashness. 

'  I  certainly  gave  you  credit  for  more  common 
sense,'  he  said. 

She  reddened  a  little  and  walked  on. 

*  Miss  Swancourt,  I  insist  upon  your  coming  down,' 
he  exclaimed. 

*  I  will  in  a  minute.  I  am  safe  enough.  I  have 
done  it  often.' 

At  that  moment,  by  reason  of  a  slight  perturbation 
192 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

his  words  had  caused  in  her,  Elfride's  foot  caught  itself 
in  a  Httle  tuft  of  grass  growing  in  a  joint  of  the  stone- 
work, and  she  almost  lost  her  balance.  Knight  sprang 
forward  with  a  face  of  horror.  By  what  seemed  the 
special  interposition  of  a  considerate  Providence  she 
tottered  to  the  inner  edge  of  the  parapet  instead  of  to 
the  outer,  and  reeled  over  upon  the  lead  roof  two  or 
three  feet  below  the  wall. 

Knight  seized  her  as  in  a  vice,  and  he  said,  panting, 
'  That  ever  I  should  have  met  a  woman  fool  enough  to 
do  a  thing  of  that  kind !  Good  God,  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself ! ' 

The  close  proximity  of  the  Shaddw  of  Death  had 
made  her  sick  and  pale  as  a  corpse  before  he  spoke. 
Already  lowered  to  that  state,  his  words  completely  over- 
powered her,  and  she  swooned  away  as  he  held  her. 

Elfride's  eyes  were  not  closed  for  more  than  forty 
seconds.  She  opened  them,  and  remembered  the  posi- 
tion instantly.  His  face  had  altered  its  expression  from 
stern  anger  to  pity.  But  his  severe  remarks  had  rather 
frightened  her,  and  she  struggled  to  be  free. 

'  If  you  can  stand,  of  course  you  may,'  he  said,  and 
loosened  his  arms.  *  I  hardly  know  whether  most  to 
laugh  at  your  freak  or  to  chide  you  for  its  folly.' 

She  immediately  sank  upon  the  lead-work.  Knight 
lifted  her  again.     *  Are  you  hurt  ?  '  he  said. 

She  murmured  an  incoherent  expression,  and  tried 
to  smile ;  saying,  with  a  fitful  aversion  of  her  face,  '  I 
am  only  frightened.     Put  me  down,  do  put  me  down  ! ' 

*  But  you  can't  walk,'  said  Knight. 

*  You  don't  know  that ;  how  can  you  ?  I  am  only 
frightened,  I  tell  you,'  she  answered  petulantly,  and 
raised  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  Knight  then  saw  that 
she  was  bleeding  from  a  severe  cut  in  her  wrist,  appa- 
rently where  it  had  descended  upon  a  salient  corner  of 
the  lead-work.  Elfride,  too,  seemed  to  perceive  and 
feel  this  now  for  the  first  time,  and  for  a  miniite  nearly 

193  N 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

lost  consciousness  again.  Knight  rapidly  bound  his 
handkerchief  round  the  place,  and  to  add  to  the  com- 
plication, the  thundercloud  he  had  been  watching 
began  to  shed  some  heavy  drops  of  rain.  Knight 
looked  up  and  saw  the  vicar  striding  towards  the 
house,  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  waddUng  beside  him  like  a 
hard-driven  duck. 

'  As  you  are  so  faint,  it  will  be  much  better  to  let 
me  carry  you  down,'  said  Knight ;  '  or  at  any  rate 
inside  out  of  the  rain.'  But  her  objection  to  be  lifted 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  support  her  for  more 
than  five  steps. 

*  This  is  folly,  great  folly,'  he  exclaimed,  setting  her 
down. 

'Indeed!'  she  murmured,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
*  I  say  I  will  not  be  carried,  and  you  say  this  is  folly ! ' 

'  So  it  is.' 

'  No,  it  isn't ! ' 

'  It  is  folly,  I  think.  At  any  rate,  the  origin  of  it 
all  is.' 

'  I  don't  agree  to  it.  And  you  needn't  get  so  angry 
with  me ;  I  am  not  worth  it.' 

*  Indeed  you  are.  You  are  worth  the  enmity  of 
princes,  as  was  said  of  such  another.  Now,  then,  will 
you  clasp  your  hands  behind  my  neck,  that  I  may  carry 
you  down  without  hurting  you  ?  ' 

*  No,  no.' 

'  You  had  better,  or  I  shall  foreclose.' 
'  What's  that ! ' 

'  Deprive  you  of  your  chance.' 
Elfride  gave  a  little  toss. 

'  Now,  don't  writhe  so  when  I  attempt  to  carry  you.' 
'  I  can't  help  it.' 
'  Then  submit  quietly.' 

'  I  don't  care,  I  don't  care,'  she  murmured  in  languid 
tones  and  with  closed  eyes. 

He  took  her  into  his  arms,  entered  the  turret,  and 
194 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

with  slow  and  cautious  steps  descended  round  and 
round.  Then,  with  the  gentleness  of  a  nursing  mother, 
he  attended  to  the  cut  on  her  arm.  During  his  pro- 
gress through  the  operations  of  wiping  it  and  binding 
it  up  anew,  her  face  changed  its  aspect  from  pained 
indifference  to  something  like  bashful  interest,  inter- 
spersed with  small  tremors  and  shudders  of  a  trifling 
kind. 

In  the  centre  of  each  pale  cheek  a  small  red  spot 
the  size  of  a  wafer  had  now  made  its  appearance,  and 
continued  to  grow  larger.  Elfride  momentarily  ex- 
pected a  recurrence  to  the  lecture  on  her  fooHshness, 
but  Knight  said  no  more  than  this — 

'  Promise  me  never  to  walk  on  that  parapet  again.' 

*  It  will  be  pulled  down  soon :  so  I  do.'  In  a  few 
minutes  she  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  and  seriously, 
*  You  are  familiar  of  course,  as  everybody  is,  with  those 
strange  sensations  we  sometimes  have,  that  our  life  for 
the  moment  exists  in  duplicate.' 

*  That  we  have  lived  through  that  moment  before  ?  ' 

'  Or  shall  again.  Well,  I  felt  on  the  tower  that 
something  similar  to  that  scene  is  again  to  be  comm.on 
to  us  both.' 

'  God  forbid  ! '  said  Knight.  '  Promise  me  that  you 
will  never  again  walk  on  any  such  place  on  any  con- 
sideration.' 

'  I  do.' 

'  That  such  a  thing  has  not  been  before,  we  know. 
That  it  shall  not  be  again,  you  vow.  Therefore  think 
no  more  of  such  a  foolish  fancy.' 

There  had  fallen  a  great  deal  of  rain,  but  unaccom- 
panied by  lightning.  A  few  minutes  longer,  and  the 
storm  had  ceased. 

'  Now,  take  my  arm,  please.' 

'  Oh  no,  it  is  not  necessary.'  This  relapse  into 
wilfulness  was  because  he  had  again  connected  the 
epithet  fooHsh  with  her. 

195 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Nonsense :  it  is  quite  necessary ;  it  will  rain  again 
directly,  and  you  are  not  half  recovered.'  And  without 
more  ado  Knight  took  her  hand,  drew  it  under  his  arm, 
and  held  it  there  so  firmly  that  she  could  not  have 
removed  it  without  a  struggle.  Feeling  like  a  colt  in 
a  halter  for  the  first  time,  at  thus  being  led  along,  yet 
afraid  to  be  angry,  it  was  to  her  great  relief  that  she  saw 
the  carriage  coming  round  the  corner  to  fetch  them. 

Her  fall  upon  the  roof  was  necessarily  explained  to 
some  extent  upon  their  entering  the  house ;  but  both 
forbore  to  mention  a  word  of  what  she  had  been  doing 
to  cause  such  an  accident.  During  the  remainder  of 
the  afternoon  Elfride  was  invisible;  but  at  dinner-time 
she  appeared  as  bright  as  ever. 

In  the  drawing-room,  after  having  been  exclusively 
engaged  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  through  the 
intervening  hour,  Knight  again  found  himself  thrown 
with  Elfride.  She  had  been  looking  over  a  chess 
problem  in  one  of  the  illustrated  periodicals. 

'  You  Hke  chess.  Miss  Swancourt  ?  ' 

'  Yes.  It  is  my  favourite  scientific  game ;  indeed, 
excludes  every  other.     Do  you  play  ? ' 

*  I  have  played ;  though  not  lately.' 

*. Challenge  him,  Elfride,'  said  the  vicar  heartily. 
*  She  plays  very  well  for  a  lady,  Mr.  Knight.' 

'  Shall  we  play  ?  '  asked  Elfride  tentatively. 

'  Oh,  certainly.      I  shall  be  delighted.' 

The  game  began.  Mr.  Swancourt  had  forgotten  a 
similar  performance  with  Stephen  Smith  the  year  before. 
Elfride  had  not;  but  she  had  begun  to  take  for  her 
maxim  the  undoubted  truth  that  the  necessity  of  con- 
tinuing faithful  to  Stephen,  without  suspicion,  dictated  a 
fickle  behaviour  almost  as  imperatively  as  fickleness  itself; 
a  fact,  however,  which  would  give  a  startling  advantage  to 
the  latter  quality  should  it  ever  appear. 

Knight,  by  one  of  those  inexcusable  oversights  which 
will  sometimes  afflict  the  best  of  players,  placed  his  rook 
196 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

in   the  arms   of  one  of  her  pawns.     It  was  her  first 
advantage.     She  looked  triumphant — even  ruthless. 

*  By  George!  what  was  I  thinking  of?'  said  Knight 
quietly ;  and  then  dismissed  all  concern  at  his  accident. 

'  Club  laws  we'll  have,  won't  we,  Mr.  Knight  ? '  said 
Elfride  suasively. 

*  Oh  yes,  certainly,'  said  Mr.  Knight,  a  thought, 
however,  just  occurring  to  his  mind,  that  he  had  two 
or  three  times  allowed  her  to  replace  a  man  on  her 
religiously  assuring  him  that  such  a  move  was  an 
absolute  blunder. 

She  immediately  took  up  the  unfortunate  rook  and 
the  contest  proceeded,  Elfride  having  now  rather  the 
better  of  the  game.  Then  he  won  the  exchange,  re- 
gained his  position,  and  began  to  press  her  hard.  Elfride 
grew  flurried,  and  placed  her  queen  on  his  remaining 
rook's  file. 

*  There — how  stupid  !  Upon  my  word,  I  did  not 
see  your  rook.  Of  course  nobody  but  a  fool  would  have 
put  a  queen  there  knowingly ! ' 

She  spoke  excitedly,  half  expecting  her  antagonist  to 
give  her  back  the  move. 

*  Nobody,  of  course,'  said  Knight  serenelyj  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  towards  his  royal  victim. 

*  It  is  not  very  pleasant  to  have  it  taken  advantage 
of,  then,'  she  said  with  some  vexation. 

'Club  laws,  I  think  you  said?'  returned  Knight 
blandly,  and  mercilessly  appropriating  the  queen. 

She  was  on  the  brink  of  pouting,  but  was  ashamed 
to  show  it;  tears  almost  stood  in  her  eyes.  She  had 
been  trying  so  hard  —  so  very  hard  —  thinking  and 
thinking  till  her  brain  was  in  a  whirl;  and  it  seemed 
so  heartless  of  him  to  treat  her  so,  after  all. 

'  I  think  it  is '  she  began. 

'  What  ? ' 

— *  Unkind  to  take  advantage  of  a  pure  mistake  I 
make  in  that  way.' 

197 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  I  lost  my  rook  by  even  a  purer  mistake,'  said 
the  enemy  in  an  inexorable  tone,  without  lifting  his 
eyes. 

'Yes,  but '  However,  as  his  logic  was  abso- 
lutely unanswerable,  she  merely  registered  a  protest. 
'  I  cannot  endure  those  cold-blooded  ways  of  clubs  and 
professional  players,  like  Staunton  and  Morphy.  Just 
as  if  it  really  mattered  whether  you  have  raised  your 
fingers  from  a  man  or  no  ! ' 

Knight  smiled  as  pitilessly  as  before,  and  they 
went  on  in  silence. 

'  Checkmate,'  said  Knight. 

'  Another  game,'  said  Elfride  peremptorily,  and  look- 
ing very  warm. 

'  With  all  my  heart,'  said  Knight. 

'  Checkmate,'  said  Knight  again  at  the  end  of  forty 
minutes. 

'  Another  game,'  she  returned  resolutely. 

'  I'll  give  you  the  odds  of  a  bishop,'  Knight  said  to 
her  kindly. 

'  No,  thank  you,'  Elfride  replied  in  a  tone  intended 
for  courteous  indifference ;  but,  as  a  fact,  very  cavalier 
indeed. 

'  Checkmate,'  said  her  opponent  without  the  least 
emotion. 

Oh,  the  difference  between  Elfride's  condition  of 
mind  now,  and  when  she  purposely  made  blunders 
that  Stephen  Smith  might  win ! 

It  was  bedtime.  Her  mind  as  distracted  as  if  it 
would  throb  itself  out  of  her  head,  she  went  off  to  her 
chamber,  full  of  mortification  at  being  beaten  time  after 
time  when  she  herself  was  the  aggressor.  Having  for 
two  or  three  years  enjoyed  the  reputation  throughout 
the  globe  of  her  father's  brain — which  almost  con- 
stituted her  entire  world — of  being  an  excellent  player, 
this  fiasco  was  intolerable  ;  for  unfortunately  the  person 
most  dogged  in  the  belief  in  a  false  reputation  is  always 
198 


■% 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

that  one,   the  possessor,  who  has   the  best  means  of 
knowing  that  it  is  not  true. 

In  bed  no  sleep  came  to  soothe  her  ;  that  gentle  thing 
being  the  very  middle-of-summer  friend  in  this  respect 
of  flying  away  at  the  merest  troublous  cloud.  After 
lying  awake  till  two  o'clock  an  idea  seemed  to  strike 
her.  She  softly  arose,  got  a  light,  and  fetched  a  Chess 
Praxis  from  the  Hbrary.  Returning  and  sitting  up  in 
bed,  she  diligently  studied  the  volume  till  the  clock 
struck  five,  and  her  eyelids  felt  thick  and  heavy.  She 
then  extinguished  the  light  and  lay  down  again. 

'You  look  pale,  Elfride,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  the 
next  morning  at  breakfast.     '  Isn't  she,  cousin  Harry?  ' 

A  young  girl  who  is  scarcely  ill  at  all  can  hardly  help 
becoming  so  when  regarded  as  such  by  all  eyes  turning 
upon  her  at  the  table  in  obedience  to  some  remark. 
Everybody  looked  at  Elfride.     She  certainly  was  pale. 

'  Am  I  pale  ?  '  she  said  with  a  faint  smile.  '  I  did 
not  sleep  much.  I  could  not  get  rid  of  armies  of 
bishops  and  knights,  try  how  I  would.' 

'  Chess  is  a  bad  thing  just  before  bedtime ;  especially 
for  excitable  people  like  yourself,  dear.  Don't  ever 
play  late  again.' 

'  I'll  play  early  instead.  Cousin  Knight,'  she  said 
in  imitation  of  Mrs.  Swancourt,  '  will  you  oblige  me  in 
something  ? ' 

'  Even  to  half  my  kingdom.' 

*  Well,  it  is  to  play  one  game  more. 

'  When  ?  ' 

'  Now,  instantly ;  the  moment  we  have  breakfasted. 

'  Nonsense,  Elfride,'  said  her  father.  '  Making  your- 
self a  slave  to  the  game  like  that.' 

'  But  I  want  to,  papa !  Honestly,  I  am  restless  at 
having  been  so  ignominiously  overcome.  And  Mr. 
Knight  doesn't  mind.     So  what  harm  can  there  be  ?  ' 

'Let  us  play,  by  all  means,  if  you  wish  it,'  said 
Knight. 

199 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

So,  when  breakfast  was  over,  the  combatants  with- 
drew to  the  quiet  of  the  library,  and  the  door  was 
closed.  Elfride  seemed  to  have  an  idea  that  her  con- 
duct was  rather  ill-regulated  and  startlingly  free  from 
conventional  restraint.  And  worse,  she  fancied  upon 
Knight's  face  a  slightly  amused  look  at  her  proceedings. 

'  You  think  me  foolish,  I  suppose,'  she  said  reck- 
lessly ;  *  but  I  want  to  do  my  very  best  just  once,  and 
see  whether  I  can  overcome  you.' 

*  Certainly :  nothing  more  natural.  Though  I  am 
afraid  it  is  not  the  plan  adopted  by  women  of  the 
world  after  a  defeat.' 

'  Why,  pray  ?  ' 

*  Because  they  know  that  as  good  as  overcoming  is 
skill  in  effacing  recollection  of  being  overcome,  and 
turn  their  attention  to  that  entirely.' 

*  I  am  wrong  again,  of  course.' 

'  Perhaps  your  wrong  is  more  pleasing  than  their 
right.' 

'  I  don't  quite  know  whether  you  mean  that,  or 
^hether  you  are  laughing  at  me,'  she  said,  looking 
doubtingly  at  him,  yet  inclining  to  accept  the  more 
flattering  interpretation.  *  I  am  almost  sure  you  think 
it  vanity  in  me  to  think  I  am  a  match  for  you.  Well, 
if  you  do,  I  say  that  vanity  is  no  crime  in  such  a  case.' 

*  Well,  perhaps  not.     Though  it  is  hardly  a  virtue.' 

*  Oh  yes,  in  battle !  Nelson's  bravery  lay  in  his 
vanity.' 

*  Indeed  !     Then  so  did  his  death.' 

Oh  no,  no !     For  it  is  written  in  the  book  of  the 
prophet  Shakespeare — 

"  Fear  and  be  slain  ?  no  worse  can  come  to  fight ; 
And  fight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  death  !  "' 

And  down  they  sat,  and  the  contest  began,  Elfride 
having  the  first  move.     The  game  progressed.     Elfride's 
heart  beat  so  violently  that  she  could  not  sit  still.     Her 
200 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

dread  was  lest  he  should  hear  it.  And  he  did  discover 
it  at  last — some  flowers  upon  the  table  being  set  throb- 
bing by  its  pulsations. 

'I  think  we  had  better  give  over,'  said  Knight, 
looking  at  her  gently.  '  It  is  too  much  for  you,  I  know. 
Let  us  write  down  the  position,  and  finish  another 
time.' 

*  No,  please  not,'  she  implored.  *  I  should  not  rest 
if  I  did  not  know  the  result  at  once.     It  is  your  move.' 

Ten  minutes  passed. 

She  started  up  suddenly.  '  I  know  what  you  are 
doing  ? '  she  cried,  an  angry  colour  upon  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  indignant.  '  You  were  thinking  of  letting 
me  win  to  please  me  ! ' 

*  I  don't  mind  owning  that  I  was,'  Knight  responded 
phlegmatically,  and  appearing  all  the  more  so  by  contrast 
with  her  own  turmoil. 

*  But  you  must  not !     I  won't  have  it.' 

*  Very  well.' 

*  No,  that  will  not  do ;  I  insist  that  you  promise  not 
to  do  any  such  absurd  thing.     It  is  insulting  me ! ' 

'  Very  well,  madam.  I  won't  do  any  such  absurd 
thing.     You  shall  not  win.' 

'  That  is  to  be  proved  ! '  she  returned  proudly ;  and 
the  play  went  on. 

Nothing  is  now  heard  but  the  ticking  of  a  quaint  old 
timepiece  on  the  summit  of  a  bookcase.  Ten  minutes 
pass ;  he  captures  her  knight ;  she  takes  his  knight,  and 
looks  a  very  Rhadamanthus. 

More  minutes  tick  away;  she  takes  his  pawn  and 
has  the  advantage,  showing  her  sense  of  it  rather 
prominently. 

Five  minutes  more  :  he  takes  her  bishop  :  she  brings 
things  even  by  taking  his  knight. 

Three  minutes  :  she  looks  bold,  and  takes  his  queen: 
he  looks  placid,  and  takes  hers. 

Eight  or  ten  minutes  pass :  he  takes  a  pawn ;  she 

O  20I 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

utters  a  little  pooh !  but  not  the  ghost  of  a  pawn  can 
she  take  in  retahation. 

Ten  minutes  pass  :  he  takes  another  pawn  and  says, 
'  Check  ! '  She  flushes,  extricates  herself  by  capturing 
his  bishop,  and  looks  triumphant.  He  immediately 
takes  her  bishop  :  she  looks  surprised. 

Five  minutes  longer :  she  makes  a  dash  and  takes 
his  only  remaining  bishop ;  he  replies  by  taking  her 
only  remaining  knight. 

Two  minutes :  he  gives  check ;  her  mind  is  now  in 
a  painful  state  of  tension,  and  she  shades  her  face  with 
her  hand. 

Yet  a  few  minutes  more :  he  takes  her  rook  and 
checks  again.  She  literally  trembles  now  lest  an  artful 
surprise  she  has  in  store  for  him  shall  be  anticipated 
by  the  artful  surprise  he  evidently  has  in  store  for  her. 

Five  minutes  :  '  Checkmate  in  two  moves  ! '  exclaims 
Elfride. 

'  If  you  can,'  says  Knight. 

'  Oh,  I  have  miscalculated ;  that  is  cruel ! ' 

'  Checkmate,'  says  Knight ;  and  the  victory  is  won. 

Elfride  arose  and  turned  away  without  letting  him  see 
her  face.  Once  in  the  hall  she  ran  upstairs  and  into 
her  room,  and  flung  herself  down  upon  her  bed,  weeping 
bitterly. 

'  Where  is  Elfride  ? '  said  her  father  at  luncheon. 
Knight  listened  anxiously  for  the  answer.      He  had 
been  hoping  to  see  her  again  before  this  time. 

*  She  isn't  well,  sir,'  was  the  reply. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  rose  and  left  the  room,  going 
upstairs  to  Elfride's  apartment. 

At  the  door  was  Unity,  who  occupied  in  the  new 
establishment  a  position  between  young  lady's  maid 
and  middle-housemaid. 

*  She  is  sound  asleep,  ma'am,'  Unity  whispered. 
Mrs.  Swancourt  opened  the  door.      Elfride  was  lying 

202 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE    EYES 

full-dressed  on  the  bed,  her  face  hot  and  red,  her  arms 
thrown  abroad.  At  intervals  of  a  minute  she  tossed 
restlessly  from  side  to  side,  and  indistinctly  moaned 
words  used  in  the  game  of  chess. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  had  a  turn  for  doctoring,  and  felt 
her  pulse.  It  was  twanging  like  a  harp-string,  at  the 
rate  of  nearly  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  minute.  Softly 
m.oving  the  sleeping  girl  to  a  little  less  cramped  posi- 
tion, she  went  downstairs  again. 

'  She  is  asleep  now,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt.  '  She 
does  not  seem  very  well.  Cousin  Knight,  what  were 
you  thinking  of?  her  tender  brain  won't  bear  cudgelling 
like  your  great  head.  You  should  have  strictly  for- 
bidden her  to  play  again.' 

In  truth,  the  essayist's  experience  of  the  nature  of 
young  women  was  far  less  extensive  than  his  abstract 
knowledge  of  them  led  himself  and  others  to  believe. 
He  could  pack  them  into  sentences  like  a  workman,  but 
practically  was  nowhere. 

'  I  am  indeed  sorry,'  said  Knight,  feeling  even  more 
than  he  expressed.  *  But  surely,  the  young  lady  knows 
best  what  is  good  for  her ! ' 

'  Bless  you,  that's  just  what  she  doesn't  know.     She 
never   thinks  of  such   things,   does   she,   Christopher? 
Her  father  and  I  have  to  command  her  and  keep  her 
in  order,  as  you  would  a   child.     She  will   say  things  \j 
worthy  of  a  French  epigrammatist,  and  act  Hke  a  robin  jj 
in  a  greenhouse.     But    I   think  we  will   send  for   Dr.  '\ 
Granson — there  can  be  no  harm.' 

A  man  was  straightway  despatched  on  horseback 
to  Castle  Boterel,  and  the  gentleman  known  as  Dr. 
Granson  came  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon.  He 
pronounced  her  nervous  system  to  be  in  a  decided 
state  of  disorder;  forwarded  some  soothing  draught, 
and  gave  orders  that  on  no  account  whatever  was  she 
to  play  chess  again. 

The  next  morning  Knight,  much  vexed  with  himself, 
203 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

waited  with  a  curiously  compounded  feeling  for  her 
entry  to  breakfast.  The  women  servants  came  in  to 
prayers  at  irregular  intervals,  and  as  each  entered,  he 
could  not,  to  save  his  life,  avoid  turning  his  head  with 
the  hope  that  she  might  be  Elfride.  Mr.  Swancourt 
began  reading  without  waiting  for  her.  Then  some- 
body glided  in  noiselessly ;  Knight  softly  glanced  up  : 
it  was  only  the  little  kitchen-maid.  Knight  thought 
reading  prayers  a  bore. 

He  went  out  alone,  and  for  almost  the  first  time  failed 
to  recognize  that  holding  converse  with  Nature's  charms 
was  not  solitude.  On  nearing  the  house  again  he  per- 
ceived his  young  friend  crossing  a  slope  by  a  path  which 
ran  into  the  one  he  was  following  in  the  angle  of  the 
field.  Here  they  met.  Elfride  was  at  once  exultant 
and  abashed :  coming  into  his  presence  had  upon  her 
the  effect  of  entering  a  cathedral. 

Knight  had  his  note-book  in  his  hand,  and  had,  in 
fact,  been  in  the  very  act  of  writing  therein  when  they 
came  in  view  of  each  other.  He  left  off  in  the  midst 
of  a  sentence,  and  proceeded   to  inquire  warmly  con- 

fcerning  her  state  of  health.  She  said  she  was  perfectly 
well,  and  indeed  had  never  looked  better.  •  Her  health 
was  as  inconsequent  as  her  actions.  Her  Hps  were  red, 
without  the  polish  that  cherries  have,  and  their  redness 
margined  with  the  white  skin  in  a  clearly  defined  line, 
which  had  nothing  of  jagged  confusion  in  it.  Altogether 
she  stood  as  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  be  knocked 
over  by  a  game  of  chess,  because  too  ephemeral-looking 
.r^r-        to  play  one. 

'  Are  you  taking  notes  ? '  she  inquired  with  an 
alacrity  plainly  arising  less  from  interest  in  the  subject 
than  from  a  wish  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  herself. 

*Yes;  I  was  making  an  entry.  And  with  your 
permission  I  will  complete  it.'  Knight  then  stood  still 
and  wrote.  Elfride  remained  beside  him  a  moment, 
and  afterwards  w^alked  on. 

204 


.3^, 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  I  should  like  to  see  all  the  secrets  that  are  in  that 
book,'  she  gaily  flung  back  to  him  over  her  shoulder. 

'  I  don't  think  you  would  find  much  to  interest  you.' 

*  I  know  I  should.' 

*  Then  of  course  I  have  no  more  to  say.' 

*  But  I  would  ask  this  question  first.  Is  it  a  book 
of  mere  facts  concerning  journeys  and  expenditure,  and 
so  on,  or  a  book  of  thoughts  ? ' 

'Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  is  not  exactly  either. 
It  consists  for  the  most  part  of  jottings  for  articles 
and  essays,  disjointed  and  disconnected,  of  no  possible 
interest  to  anybody  but  myself.' 

'  It  contains,  I  suppose,  your  developed  thoughts  in 
embryo  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

*  If  they  are  interesting  when  enlarged  to  the  size 
of  an  article,  what  must  they  be  in  their  concentrated 
form?  Pure  rectified  spirit,  above  proof;  before  it  is 
lowered  to  be  fit  for  human  consumption :  "  words 
that  burn  "  indeed.' 

'  Rather  like  a  balloon  before  it  is  inflated :  flabby, 
shapeless,  dead.     You  could  hardly  read  them.' 

*  May  I  try  ?  '  she  said  coaxingly.  '  I  wrote  my  poor 
romance  in  that  way — I  mean  in  bits,  out  of  doors — 
and  I  should  like  to  see  whether  your  way  of  entering 
things  is  the  same  as  mine.' 

*  Really,  that's  rather  an  awkward  request.  I  sup- 
pose I  can  hardly  refuse  now  you  have  asked  so 
directly;  but ' 

'You  think  me  ill-mannered  in  asking.  But  does 
not  this  justify  me — your  writing  in  my  presence, 
Mr.  Knight?  If  I  had  lighted  upon  your  book  by 
chance,  it  would  have  been  different ;  but  you  stand 
before  me,  arid  say,  "Excuse  me,"  without  caring 
whether  I  do  or  not,  and  write  on,  and  then  tell  me 
they  are  not  private  facts  but  public  ideas.' 

'  Very  well,  Miss  Swancourt.  If  you  really  must  see, 
205 


% 


A   PAIR    OF   BLUE   EYES 

the  consequences  be  upon  your  own  head.    Remember, 
my  advice  to  you  is  to  leave  my  book  alone.' 

'  But  with  that  caution  I  have  your  permission  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  looked  at  his  hand  contain- 
ing the  book,  then  laughed,  and  saying,  '  I  must  see 
it,'  withdrew  it  from  his  fmgers. 

Knight  rambled  on  towards  the  house,  leaving  her 
standing  in  the  path  turning  over  the  leaves.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  the  wicket-gate  he  saw  that  she 
had  moved,  and  waited  till  she  came  up. 

Elfride  had  closed  the  note-book,  and  was  carrying 
it  disdainfully  by  the  corner  between  her  finger  and 
thumb;  her  face  wore  a  nettled  look.  She  silently 
extended  the  volume  towards  him,  raising  her  eyes  no 
higher  than  her  hand  was  lifted. 
g  '■  Take  it,'  said-  Elfride  quickly.     '  I  don't  want  to 

read  it.' 

'  Could  you  understand  it  ? '  said  Knight. 

'  As  far  as  I  looked.  But  I  didn't  care  to  read 
much.' 

'  Why,  Miss  Swancourt  ?  ' 

'  Only  because  I  didn't  wish  to — that's  all.' 

'  I  warned  you  that  you  might  not.' 

'  Yes,  but  I  never  supposed  you  would  have  put  me 
there.' 

'  Your  name  is  not  mentioned  once  within  the  four 
corners.' 

'  Not  my  name — I  know  that.' 

'  Nor  your  description,  nor  anything  by  which  any- 
body would  recognize  you.' 

'  Except  myself.  For  what  is  this  ?  '  she  exclaimed, 
taking  it  from  him  and  opening  a  page.  'August  7. 
That's  the  day  before  yesterday.  But  I  won't  read  it,' 
Elfride  said,  closing  the  book  again  with  pretty  hauteur. 
'  ^Vhy  should  I  ?  I  had  no  business  to  ask  to  see  your 
book,  and  it  serves  me  right.' 
206 


A    PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

Knight  hardly  recollected  what  he  had  written,  and 
turned  over  the  book  to  see.     He  came  to  this : 

'Aug.  7.  Girl  gets  into  her  teens,  and  her  self- 
consciousness  is  born.  After  a  certain  interval  passed 
in  infantine  helplessness,  it  begins  to  act.  Simple, 
young,  and  inexperienced  at  first.  Persons  of  observa- 
tion can  tell  to  a  nicety  how  old  this  consciousness  is 
by  the  skill  it  has  acquired  in  the  art  necessary  to  its 
success — the  art  of  hiding  itself.  Generally  begins 
career  by  actions  which  are  popularly  termed  showing- 
off.  Method  adopted  depends  in  each  case  upon  the 
disposition,  rank,  residence,  of  the  young  lady  attempt- 
ing it.  Town-bred  girl  will  utter  some  moral  paradox 
on  fast  men,  or  love.  Country  miss  adopts  the  more 
material  media  of  taking  a  ghastly  fence,  whistling,  or 
making  your  blood  run  cold  by  appearing  to  risk  her 
neck.     {Mem.  On  Endelstow  Tower.) 

<  An  innocent  vanity  is  of  course  the  origin  of  these 
displays.  "  Look  at  me,"  say  these  youthful  beginners 
in  womanly  artifice,  without  reflecting  whether  or  not  it 
be  to  their  advantage  to  show  so  very  much  of  them.- 
selves.  (Amplify  and  correct  for  paper  on  Artless 
Arts.) ' 

*  Yes,  I  remember  now,'  said  Knight.  *  The  notes 
were  certainly  suggested  by  your  manoeuvre  on  the 
church  tower.  But  you  must  not  think  too  much  of 
such  random  observations,'  he  continued  encouragingly, 
as  he  noticed  her  injured  looks.  '  A  mere  fancy  passing 
through  my  head  assumes  a  factitious  importance  to  you, 
because  it  has  been  made  permanent  by  being  written 
down.  All  mankind  think  thoughts  as  bad  as  those 
of  people  they  most  love  on  earth,  but  such  thoughts 
never  getting  embodied  on  paper,  it  becomes  assumed 
that  they  never  existed.  I  daresay  that  you  yourself 
have  thought  some  disagreeable  thing  or  other  of  me, 
which  would  seem  just  as  bad  as  this  if  written.  I 
challenge  you,  now,  to  tell  me.' 
207 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

'  The  worst  thing  I  have  thought  of  you  ? ' 

*  Yes.' 

'  I  must  not.' 

*  Oh  yes.' 

*  I  thought  you  were  rather  round-shouldered.' 
Knight  looked  slightly  redder. 

'And  that  there  was  a  little  bald  spot  on  the  top  o\ 
your  head.' 

'  Heh-heh !  Two  ineradicable  defects,'  said  Knight, 
there  being  a  faint  ghastliness  discernible  in  his  laugh, 
'  They  are  much  worse  in  a  lady's  eye  than  being 
thought  self-conscious,  I  suppose.' 

*  Ah,  that's  very  fine,'  she  said,  too  inexperienced  to 
perceive  her  hit,  and  hence  not  quite  disposed  to  for- 
give his  notes.  'You  alluded  to  me  in  that  entry  as 
if  I  were  such  a  child,  too.  Everybody  does  that.  I 
cannot  understand  it.  I  am  quite  a  woman,  you  know. 
How  old  do  you  think  I  am  ? ' 

'  How  old  ?  Why,  seventeen,  I  should  say.  All 
girls  are  seventeen.' 

'  You  are  wrong.  I  am  nearly  nineteen.  Which 
class  of  women  do  you  like  best,  those  who  seem 
younger,  or  those  who  seem  older  than  they  are  ? ' 

'  Off-hand  I  should  be  inclined  to  say  those  who 
seem  older.' 

So  it  was  not  Elfride's  class. 

*  But  it  is  well  known,'  she  said  eagerly,  and  there 
was  something  touching  in  the  artless  anxiety  to  be 
thought  much  of  which  she  revealed  by  her  words,  *  that 
the  slower  a  nature  is  to  develop,  the  richer  the  nature. 
Youths  and  girls  who  are  men  and  women  before  they 
come  of  age  are  nobodies  by  the  time  that  backward 
people  have  shown  their  full  compass.' 

'  Yes,'   said   Knight   thoughtfully.     '  There  is  really 

something  in  that  remark.     But  at  the  risk  of  offence  I 

must  remind  you  that  you  there  take  it  for  granted  that 

the  woman  behind  her   time  at  a  given  age  has  not 

208 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

reached  the  end  of  her  tether.  Her  backwardness  may 
be  not  because  she  is  slow  to  develop,  but  because  she 
soon  exhausted  her  capacity  for  developing.' 

Elfride  looked  disappointed.  By  this  time  they 
were  indoors.  Mrs.  Swancourt,  to  whom  match-making 
by  any  honest  means  was  meat  and  drink,  had  now  a 
little  scheme  of  that  nature  concerning  this  pair.  The 
morning-room,  in  which  they  both  expected  to  find  her, 
was  empty;  the  old  lady  having,  for  the  above  reason, 
vacated  it  by  the  second  door  as  they  entered  by  the 
first. 

Knight  went  to  the  chimney-piece,  and  carelessly 
surveyed  two  portraits  on  ivory. 

'  Though  these  pink  ladies  had  very  rudimentary 
features,  judging  by  what  I  see  here,'  he  observed,  '  they 
had  unquestionably  beautiful  heads  of  hair.' 

'  Yes ;  and  that  is  everything,'  said  Elfride,  possibly 
conscious  of  her  own,  possibly  not. 

*  Not  everything ;  though  a  great  deal,  certainly.' 

*  Which  colour  do  you  like  best  ? '  she  ventured 
to  ask. 

*  More  depends  on  its  abundance  than  on  its  colour.' 

*  Abundances  being  equal,  may  I  inquire  your 
favourite  colour  ? ' 

'  Dark.' 

'  I  mean  for  women,'  she  said,  with  the  minutest  fall 
of  countenance,  and  a  hope  that  she  had  been  mis- 
understood. 

'  So  do  I,'  Knight  repHed. 

It  was  impossible  for  any  man  not  to  know  the 
colour  of  Elfride's  hair.  In  women  who  wear  it  plainly 
such  a  feature  may  be  overlooked  by  men  not  given  to 
ocular  intentness.  But  hers  was  always  in  the  way. 
You  saw  her  hair  as  far  as  you  could  see  her  sex,  and 
knew  that  it  was  the  palest  brown.  She  knew  instantly 
that  Knight,  being  perfectly  aware  of  this,  had  an  inde- 
pendent standard  of  admiration  in  the  matter. 

209  o 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Elfride  was  thoroughly  vexed.  She  could  not  but  be 
struck  with  the  honesty  of  his  opinions,  and  the  worst  of 
it  was,  that  the  more  they  went  against  her,  the  more  she 
respected  them.  And  now,  like  a  reckless  gambler,  she 
hazarded  her  last  and  best  treasure.  Her  eyes  :  they 
were  her  all  now. 

*  ^Vhat  coloured  eyes  do  you  like  best,  Mr.  Knight  ?  ' 
she  said  slowly. 

*  Honestly,  or  as  a  compHment  ? ' 

'  Of  course  honestly ;  I  don't  want  anybody's  com- 
pliment ! ' 

And  yet  Elfride  knew  otherwise  :  that  a  compliment 
or  word  of  approval  from  that  man  then  would  have 
been  like  a  well  to  a  famished  Arab. 

*  I  prefer  hazel,'  he  said  serenely. 
She  had  played  and  lost  again. 


XIX 

*Love  was  in  the  next  degree.* 

Iv  NIGHT  had  none  of  those  light  familiarities  of 
speech  which,  by  judicious  touches  of  epigrammatic 
flattery,  obliterate  a  woman's  recollection  of  the  speaker's 
abstract  opinions.  So  no  more  was  said  by  either  on 
the  subject  of  hair,  eyes,  or  development.  Elfride's 
mind  had  been  impregnated  with  sentiments  of  her 
own  smallness  to  an  uncomfortable  degree  of  distinct- 
ness, and  her  discomfort  was  visible  in  her  face.  The 
whole  tendency  of  the  conversation  latterly  had  been 
to  quietly  but  surely  disparage  her ;  and  she  was  fain  to 
take  Stephen  into  favour  in  self-defence.  He  would 
not  have  been  so  unloving,  she  said,  as  to  admire  an 
idiosyncrasy  and  features  different  from  her  own. 
True,  Stephen  had  declared  he  loved  her :  Mr.  Knight 
had  never  done  anything  of  the  sort.  Somehow  this 
did  not  mend  matters,  and  the  sensation  of  her  small- 
ness in  Knight's  eyes  still  remained.  Had  the  posi- 
tion been  reversed — had  Stephen  loved  her  in  spite 
of  a  differing  taste,  and  had  Knight  been  indifferent 
in  spite  of  her  resemblance  to  his  ideal,  it  would 
have  engendered  far  happier  thoughts.  As  matters 
stood,  Stephen's  admiration   might  have   its  root  in  a 

211 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

blindness  the  result  of  passion.  Perhaps  any  keen 
man's  judgment  was  condemnatory  of  her. 

During  the  remainder  of  Saturday  they  were  more 
or  less  thrown  with  their  seniors,  and  no  conversation 
arose  which  was  exclusively  their  own.  When  Elfride 
was  in  bed  that  night  her  thoughts  recurred  to  the 
same  subject.  At  one  moment  she  insisted  that  it 
was  ill-natured  of  him  to  speak  so  decisively  as  he  had 
done;  the  next,  that  it  was  sterling  honesty. 

'  Ah,  what  a  poor  nobody  I  am ! '  she  said,  sighing. 
'  People  like  him,  who  go  about  the  great  world,  don't 
care  in  the  least  what  I  am  like  either  in  mood  or 
feature.' 

Perhaps  a  man  who  has  got  thoroughly  into  a 
woman's  mind  in  this  manner,  is  half  way  to  her  heart ; 
the  distance  between  those  two  stations  is  proverbially 
short. 

'  And  are  you  really  going  away  this  week  ? '  said 
Mrs.  Swancourt  to  Knight  on  the  following  evening, 
which  was  Sunday. 

They  were  all  leisurely  climbing  the  hill  to  the  church, 
where  a  last  service  was  now  to  be  held  at  the  rather 
exceptional  time  of  evening  instead  of  in  the  afternoon, 
previous  to  the  demolition  of  the  ruinous  portions. 

*  I  am  intending  to  cross  to  Cork  from  Bristol,'  re- 
turned Knight ;   '  and  then  I  go  on  to  Dublin.' 

'  Return  this  way,  and  stay  a  little  longer  with  us,' 
said  the  vicar.  '  A  week  is  nothing.  We  have  hardly 
been  able  to  realize  your  presence  yet.  I  remember  a 
story  which ' 

The  vicar  suddenly  stopped.  He  had  forgotten  it 
was  Sunday,  and  would  probably  have  gone  on  in 
his  week-day  mode  of  thought  had  not  a.  turn  in  the 
breeze  blown  the  skirt  of  his  college  gown  within  the 
range  of  his  vision,  and  so  reminded  him.  He  at 
once  diverted  the  current  of  his  narrative  with  the 
dexterity  the  occasion  demanded. 

212 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

*  The  story  of  the  Levite  who  journeyed  to  Bethlehem- 
judah,  from  which  I  took  my  text  the  Sunday  before  last, 
is  quite  to  the  point,'  he  continued,  with  the  pronun- 
ciation of  a  man  who,  far  from  having  intended  to  tell  a 
week-day  story  a  moment  earlier,  had  thought  of  nothing 
but  Sabbath  matters  for  several  weeks.  '  What  did  he 
gain  after  all  by  his  restlessness  ?  Had  he  remained  in 
the  city  of  the  Jebusites,  and  not  been  so  anxious  for 
Gibeah,  none  of  his  troubles  would  have  arisen.' 

'  But  he  had  wasted  five  days  already,'  said  Knight, 
closing  his  eyes  to  the  vicar's  commendable  diversion. 
*  His  fault  lay  in  beginning  the  tarrying  system  ori- 
ginally.' 

'  True,  true ;  my  illustration  fails.' 

'  But  not  the  hospitality  which  prompted  the  story.' 

'  So  you  are  to  come  just  the  same,'  urged  Mrs. 
Swancourt,  for  she  had  seen  an  almost  imperceptible 
fall  of  countenance  in  her  stepdaughter  at  Knight's 
announcement. 

Knight  half  promised  to  call  on  his  return  journey ; 
but  the  uncertainty  with  which  he  spoke  was  quite 
enough  to  fill  Elfride  with  a  regretful  interest  in  all  he 
did  during  the  few  remaining  hours.  The  curate  having 
already  officiated  twice  that  day  in  the  two  churches, 
Mr.  Swancourt  had  undertaken  the  whole  of  the  even- 
ing service,  and  Knight  read  the  lessons  for  him.  The 
sun  streamed  across  from  the  dilapidated  :jpest  window, 
and  lighted  all  the  assembled  worshippers  with  a  golden 
glow.  Knight  as  he  read  being  illuminated  by  the  same 
mellow  lustre.  Elfride  at  the  organ  regarded  him  with 
a  throbbing  sadness  of  mood  which  was  fed  by  a  sense 
of  being  far  removed  from  his  sphere.  As  he  went  delibe- 
rately through  the  chapter  appointed — a  portion  of  the 
history  of  Elijah — and  ascended  that  magnificent  climax 
of  the  wind,  the  earthquake,  the  fire,  and  the  still  small 
voice,  his  deep  tones  echoed  past  with  such  apparent 
disregard  of  her  existence,  that  his  presence  inspired  her 
213 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

with  a  forlorn  sense  of  unapproachableness,  which  his 
absence  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  cause. 

At  the  same  time,  turning  her  face  for  a  moment  to 
catch  the  glory  of  the  dying  sun  as  it  fell  on  his  form,  her 
eyes  were  arrested  by  the  shape  and  aspect  of  a  woman  in 
the  west  gallery.  It  was  the  bleak  barren  countenance 
of  the  widow  Jethway,  whom  Elfride  had  not  seen  much 
of  since  the  morning  of  her  return  with  Stephen  Smith. 
Possessing  the  smallest  of  competencies,  this  unhappy 
woman  appeared  to  spend  her  life  in  journeyings  be- 
tween Endelstow  Churchyard  and  that  of  a  village  near 
Southampton,  where  her  father  and  mother  were  laid. 

She  had  not  attended  the  service  here  for  a  consider- 
able time,  and  she  now  seemed  to  have  a  reason  for 
her  choice  of  seat.  From  the  gallery  window  the  tomb 
of  her  son  was  plainly  visible — standing  as  the  nearest 
object  in  a  prospect  which  was  closed  outwardly  by  the 
changeless  horizon  of  the  sea. 

The  streaming  rays,  too,  flooded  her  face,  now  bent 
towards  Elfride  with  a  hard  and  bitter  expression  that 
the  solemnity  of  the  place  raised  to  a  tragic  dignity  it  did 
not  intrinsically  possess.  The  girl  resumed  her  normal 
attitude  with  an  added  disquiet. 

Elfride's  emotion  was  cumulative,  and  after  a  while 
would  assert  itself  on  a  sudden.  A  sHght  touch  was 
enough  to  set  it  free — a  poem,  a  sunset,  a  cunningly 
contrived  chord  of  music,  a  vague  imagining,  being  the 
usual  accidents  of  its  exhibition.  The  longing  for 
Knight's  respect,  which  was  leading  up  to  an  incipient 
yearning  for  his  love,  made  the  present  conjuncture  a 
sufficient  one.  Whilst  kneeling  down  previous  to 
leaving,  when  the  sunny  streaks  had  gone  upward  to 
the  roof,  and  the  lower  part  of  the  church  was  in 
soft  shadow,  she  could  not  help  thinking  of  Coleridge's 
morbid  poem  '  The  Three  Graves,'  and  shuddering  as 
she  wondered  if  Mrs.  Jethway  were  cursing  her,  she 
wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

2T4 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

They  came  out  of  church  just  as  the  sun  went  down, 
leaving  the  landscape  like  a  platform  from  which  an 
eloquent  speaker  has  retired,  and  nothing  remains  for 
the  audience  to  do  but  to  rise  and  go  home.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Swancourt  went  off  in  the  carriage.  Knight  and 
Elfride  preferring  to  walk,  as  the  skilful  old  matchmaker 
had  imagined.     They  descended  the  hill  together. 

'  I  Hked  your  reading,  Mr.  Knight,'  Elfride  presently 
found  herself  saying.      <  You  read  better  than  papa.' 

'  I  will  praise  anybody  that  will  praise  me.  You  played 
excellently,  Miss  Swancourt,  and  very  correctly.' 

'  Correctly — yes.' 

'  It  must  be  a  great  pleasure  to  you  to  take  an  active 
part  in  the  service.' 

'  I  want  to  be  able  to  play  with  more  feeling.  But  I 
have  not  a  good  selection  of  music,  sacred  or  secular. 
I  wish  I  had  a  nice  little  music-library — well  chosen, 
and  that  the  only  new  pieces  sent  me  were  those  of 
genuine  merit.' 

'  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  a  wish  from  you.  It  is 
extraordinary  how  many  women  have  no  honest  love  of 
music  as  an  end  and  not  as  a  means,  even  leaving  out 
those  who  have  nothing  in  them.  They  mostly  Hke  it 
for  its  accessories.  I  have  never  met  a  woman  who 
loves  music  as  do  ten  or  a  dozen  men  I  know.' 

'  How  would  you  draw  the  line  between  womien  with 
something  and  women  with  nothing  in  them  ? ' 

'Well,'  said  Knight,  reflecting  a  moment,  'I  mean 
by  nothing  in  them  those  who  don't  care  about  any- 
thing solid.  This  is  an  instance :  I  knew  a  man  who 
had  a  young  friend  in  whom  he  was  much  'nterested ; 
in  fact,  they  were  going  to  be  married.  She  was  seem- 
ingly poetical,  and  he  offered  her  a  choice  of  two 
editions  of  the  British  poets,  which  she  pretended  to 
want  badly.  He  said,  "  Which  of  them  would  you  like 
best  for  me  to  send  ?  "  She  said,  "  A  pair  of  the  prettiest 
earrings  in  Bond  Street,  if  you  don't  mind,  would  be 
215 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

nicer   than   either."      Now  I   call   her  a  girl  with   not 
much  in  her  but  vanity ;  and  so  do  you,  I  daresay.' 

'  Oh  yes,'  replied  Elfride  with  an  effort. 

Happening  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  face  as  she  was 
speaking,  and  noticing  that  her  attempt  at  heartiness  was 
a  miserable  failure,  he  appeared  to  have  misgivings. 

'  You,  Miss  Swancourt,  would  not,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, have  preferred  the  nicknacks  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  don't  think  I  should,  indeed,'  she  stam- 
mered. 

'  I'll  put  it  to  you,'  said  the  inflexible  Knight, 
'  Which  will  you  have  of  these  two  things  of  about 
equal  value — the  well-chosen  little  library  of  the  best 
music  you  spoke  of — bound  in  morocco,  walnut  case, 
lock  and  key — or  a  pair  of  the  very  prettiest  earrings  in 
Bond  Street  windows  ?  ' 

'  Of  course  the  music,'  Elfride  replied  with  forced 
earnestness. 

I      '  You  are  quite  certain  ?  '  he  said  emphatically. 
I      *  Quite,'  she  faltered ;   '  if  I  could  for  certain  buy  the 
earrings  afterwards.' 

Knight,  somewhat  blamably,  keenly  enjoyed  sparring 
with  the  palpitating  mobile  creature,  whose  excitable 
nature  made  any  such  thing  a  species  of  cruelty. 

He  looked  at  her  rather  oddly,  and  said,  '  Fie ! ' 

'  Forgive  me,'  she  said,  laughing  a  little,  a  little 
frightened,  and  blushing  very  deeply. 

'  Ah,  Miss  Elfie,  why  didn't  you  say  at  first,  as  any 
firm  woman  would  have  said,  I  am  as  bad  as  she,  and 
shall  choose  the  same  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  Elfride  wofully,  and  with  a 
distressful  smile. 

'  I  thought  you  were  exceptionally  musical  ? ' 

'  So  I  am,  I  think.  But  the  test  is  so  severe — quite 
painful.' 

'  I  don't  understand.' 

'  Music  doesn't  do  any  real  good,  or  rather ' 

216 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*That  is  a  thing  to  say,  Miss  Swancourt !  Why, 
what ' 

*  You  don't  understand  !  you  don't  understand  ! ' 
*Why,   what  conceivable  use  is   there  in   jimcrack 

jewellery  ? ' 

'  No,  no,  no,  no ! '  she  cried  petulantly ;  *  I  didn't 
mean  what  you  think.  I  like  the  music  best,  only  I 
like ' 

'  Earrings  better — own  it ! '  he  said  in  a  teasing 
tone.  '  Well,  I  think  I  should  have  had  the  moral 
courage  to  own  it  at  once,  without  pretending  t6  an 
elevation  I  could  not  reach.' 

Like  the  French  soldiery,  Elfride  was  not  brave 
when  on  the  defensive.  So  it  was  almost  with  tears  in 
her  eyes  that  she  answered  desperately : 

'  My  meaning  is,  that  I  like  earrings  best  just  now, 
because  I  lost  one  of  my  prettiest  pair  last  year,  and 
papa  said  he  would  not  buy  any  more,  or  allow  me  to 
myself,  because  I  was  careless ;  and  now  I  wish  I  had 
some  like  them — that's  what  my  meaning  is — indeed  it 
is,  Mr.  Knight.' 

*  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  harsh  and  rude,'  said 
Knight,  with  a  look  of  regret  at  seeing  how  disturbed 
she  was.  '  But  seriously,  if  women  only  knew  how  they 
ruin  their  good  looks  by  such  appurtenances,  I  am  sure 
they  would  never  want  them.' 

'  They  were  lovely,  and  became  me  so ! ' 

*  Not  if  they  were  like  the  ordinary  hideous  things 
women  stuff  their  ears  with  nowadays — like  the  governor 
of  a  steam-engine,  or  a  pair  of  scales,  or  gold  gibbets 
and  chains,  and  artists'  palettes,  and  compensation  pen- 
dulums, and  Heaven  knows  what  besides.' 

*  No  j  they  were  not  one  of  those  things.  So  pretty 
— like  this,'  she  said  with  eager  animation.  And  she 
drew  with  the  point  of  her  parasol  an  enlarged  view  of 
one  of  the  lamented  darlings,  to  a  scale  that  would  have 
suited  a  giantess  half-a-mile  high. 

p  ai7 


y 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 


'  Yes,  very  pretty — very,'  said  Knight  dryly.  '  How 
did  you  come  to  lose  such  a  precious  pair  of  articles  ? " 

'  I  only  lost  one — nobody  ever  loses  both  at  the 
same  time.' 

She  made  this  remark  with  embarrassment,  and  a 
nervous  movement  of  the  fingers.  Seeing  that  the  loss 
occurred  whilst  Stephen  Smith  was  attempting  to  kiss 
her  for  the  first  time  on  the  cliff,  her  confusion  was 
hardly  to  be  wondered  at.  The  question  had  been 
awkward,  and  received  no  direct  answer. 

Knight  seemed  not  to  notice  her  manner. 

'  Oh,  nobody  ever  loses  both — I  see.  And  certainly 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  case  of  loss  takes  away  all  odour 
of  vanity  from  your  choice.' 

*As  I  never  know  whether  you  are  in  earnest,  I 
don't  now,'  she  said,  looking  up  inquiringly  at  the  hairy 
face  of  the  oracle.  And  coming  gallantly  to  her  own 
rescue,  *  If  I  really  seem  vain,  it  is  that  I  am  only  vain 
in  my  ways — not  in  my  heart.  The  worst  women  are 
those  vain  in  their  hearts,  and  not  in  their  ways.' 

*  An  adroit  distinction.  Well,  they  are  certainly  the 
more  objectionable  of  the  two,'  said  Knight. 

'  Is  vanity  a  mortal  or  a  venial  sin  ?  You  know 
what  life  is  :  tell  me.' 

'  I  am  very  far  from  knowing  what  life  is.  A  just  con- 
ception of  life  is  too  large  a  thing  to  grasp  during  the 
short  interval  of  passing  through  it.' 

'  Will  the  fact  of  a  woman  being  fond  of  jewellery  be 
likely  to  make  her  life,  in  its  higher  sense,  a  failure  ? ' 

'  Nobody's  Hfe  is  altogether  a  failure.' 

'  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,  even  though  my 
words  are  badly  selected  and  commonplace,'  she  said 
impatiently.  '  Because  I  utter  commonplace  words, 
you  must  not  suppose  I  think  only  commonplace 
thoughts.  My  poor  stock  of  words  are  like  a  limited 
number  of  rough  moulds  I  have  to  cast  all  my  materials 
in,  good  and  bad ;  and  the  novelty  or  delicacy  of  the 
218 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

substance  is  often  lost  in  the  coarse  triteness  of  the 
form.' 

*  Very  well ;  I'll  believe  that  ingenious  representa- 
tion. As  to  the  subject  in  hand — lives  which  are 
failures — you  need  not  trouble  yourself.  Anybody's 
hfe  may  be  just  as  romantic  and  strange  and  interest- 
ing if  he  or  she  fails  as  if  he  or  she  succeed.  All  the 
difference  is,  that  the  last  chapter  is  wanting  in  the 
story.  If  a  man  of  power  tries  to  do  a  great  deed,  and 
just  falls  short  of  it  by  an  accident  not  his  fault,  up  to 
that  time  his  history  had  as  much  in  it  as  that  of  a 
great  man  who  has  done  his  great  deed.  It  is  whim- 
sical of  the  world  to  hold  that  particulars  of  how  a  lad 
went  to  school  and  so  on  should  be  as  an  interesting 
romance  or  as  nothing  to  them,  precisely  in  proportion 
to  his  after  renown.' 

They  were  walking  between  the  sunset  and  the  moon- 
rise.  With  the  dropping  of  the  sun  a  nearly  full  moon 
had  begun  to  raise  itself.  Their  shadows,  as  cast  by  the 
western  glare,  showed  signs  of  becoming  obliterated 
in  the  interest  of  a  rival  pair  in  the  opposite  direction 
which  the  moon  was  bringing  to  distinctness. 

'  I  consider  my  life  to  some  extent  a  failure,'  said 
Knight  again  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  had  noticed 
the  antagonistic  shadows. 

VYou!   How?' 

'  I  don't  precisely  know.  But  in  some  way  I  have 
missed  the  mark.' 

*  Really  ?  To  have  done  it  is  not  much  to  be  sad 
about,  but  to  feel  that  you  have  done  it  must  be  a 
cause  of  sorrow.     Am  I  right  ?  ' 

*  Partly,  though  not  quite.  For  a  sensation  of  being 
profoundly  experienced  serves  as  a  sort  of  consolation 
to  people  who  are  conscious  of  having  taken  wrong 
turnings.  Contradictory  as  it  seems,  there  is  nothing 
truer  than  that  people  who  have  always  gone  right  don't 
know  half  as  much  about  the  nature  and  ways  of  going 

219 


«  ■    :    A  PAIR  OF  BLU#*-EYES       " 

■"'■:    ' 

right  as  those  do  who  have  gone  wrong.  However,  it  is 
not  desirable,  for  me  to  chill  your  summer-time  by  going 
into  this.' 

'You  have  not  told  me  even  now  if  I  am  really 
vain.' 

'  If  I  say  Yes,  I  shall  offend  you  ;  if  I  say  No,  you'll 
think  I  don't  mean  it,'  he  rSpliei;!,^  lining  curiously 
into  her  face.  "    *" 

'  Ah,  well,'  she  replied,  with  a  little  breath  of  distress, 
'  "  That  which  is  exceeding  deep,*  who  will  'find  it  out  ?  " 
I  suppose  I  must  take  you  as  I  do  the  Bible — find)p;it 
and  understand  all  I  can ;  ai  d  on  the  strength  of  that, 
swallow  the  rest  in  a  lump,  by  simple  faith.  Think  me 
vain,  if  you  will.  Worldly  greatness  requires  so  much 
littleness  to  grow  up  in,  that  an  infirrrdty  more  or  less 
is  not  a  matter  for  regret.'  J^T 

*As  regards  women,  I  can't  say,'  ansis^ered  r^night 
carelessly ;  '  but  it  is  without  doubt  a^misfortune  for 
a  man  who  has  a  living  to  get,  to  be  born  ^  a  truly 
noble  nature.  A  high  soul  will  bring  a  man  to  the 
workhouse;  so  you  may  be  right  in  sticking  up  for 
vanity.' 

*No,  no,  I  don't  do  that,'  she  said  regret(iilly. 
•  Mr.  Knight,  when  you  are  gone,  will  you^  send  me 
something  you  have  written  ?  I  think  I  shf)tJld  like  to 
see  whether  you  write  as  you  have  lately  spoken,  or  in 
your  better  mood.  Which  is  your  true  self — the  cynic 
you  have  been  this  evening,  or  the  nice  philosopher  you 
were  up  to  to-night  ?  ' 

'  Ah,  which  ?     You  know  as  well  as  L' 

Their  conversation  detained  them  on  the  lawn  and 
in  the  portico  till  the  stars  blinked  out.  Elfride  flung 
back  her  head,   and  said  idly — 

'  There's  a  bright  star  exactly  over  me.' 

*  Each  bright  star  is  overhead  somewhere.' 

*  Is  it  ?  Oh  yes,  of  course.  Where  is  that  one  ? ' 
and  she  pointed  with  her  finger. 

220 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*That  is  poised  like  a  white  hawk  over  one  of  the 
Cape  Verde  Islands.' 

*  And  that  ?  ' 

*  Looking  down  upon  the  source  of  the  Nile.* 
'  And  that  lonely  quiet-looking  one  ?  ' 

'  He  watches  the  North  Pole,  and  has  no  less  than 
the  whole  equator  for  his  horizon.  And  that  idle  one 
low  down  upon  the  ground,  that  we  have  almost  rolled 
away  from,  is  in  India — over  the  head  of  a  young  friend 
of  mine,  who  very  possibly  looks  at  the  star  in  our 
zenith,  as  it  hangs  low  upon  his  horizon,  and  thinks  of 
it  as  marking  where  his  true  love  dwells.' 

Elfride  glanced  at  Knight  with  misgiving.  Did  he 
mean  her?  She  could  not  see  his  features;  but  his 
attitude  seemed  to  show  unconsciousness. 

<  The  star  is  over  my  head,'  she  said  with  ,he|^ita- 
tion. 

'  Or  anybody  else's  in  England.' 

*  Oh  yes,  I  see  : '  she  breathed  her  relief. 

*  His  parents,  I  believe,  are  natives  of  this  county. 
I  don't  know  them,  though  I  have  been  in  correspond- 
ence with  him  for  many  years  till  lately.  Fortunately 
or  unfortunately  for  him  he  fell  in  love,  and  then  went 
to  Bombay.  •  Since  that  time  I  have  heard  very  little  of 
him.' 

Knight  went  no  further  in  his  volunteered  statement, 
and  though  Elfride  at  one  moment  was  inclined  to 
profit  by  the  lessons  in  honesty  he  had  just  been  giving 
her,  the  flesh  was  weak,  and  the  intention  dispersed 
into  silence.  There  seemed  a  reproach  in  Knight's 
bUnd  words,  and  yet  she  was  not  able  to  clearly  define 
any  disloyalty  that  she  had  been  guilty  of. 


221 


XX 

<;  'A  distant  dearness  in  the  hill." 

Knight  turned  his  back  upon  the  parish  of 
Endelstow,  and  crossed  over  to  Cork. 

One  day  of  absence  superimposed  itself  on  another, 
and  proportionately  weighted  his  heart.  He  pushed  on 
to  the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  rambled  amid  their  luxuriant 
woods,  surveyed  the  infinite  variety  of  island,  hill,  and 
dale  there  to  be  found,  listened  to  the  marvellous 
echoes  of  that  romantic  spot;  but  altogether  missed 
the  glory  and  the  dream  he  formerly  found  in  such 
favoured  regions. 

Whilst  in  the  company  of  Elfride,  her  girlish  pre- 
sence had  not  perceptibly  affected  him  to  any  depth. 
He  had  not  been  conscious  that  her  entry  into  his 
sphere  had  added  anything  to  himself;  but  now  that 
she  was  taken  away  he  was  very  conscious  of  a  great 
deal  being  abstracted.  The  superfluity  had  become  a 
necessity,  and  Knight  was  in  love. 

Stephen  fell  in  love  with  Elfride  by  looking  at  her : 
Knight  by  ceasing  to  do  so.  When  or  how  the  spirit 
entered  into  him  he  knew  not :  certain  he  was  that 
when  on  the  point  of  leaving  Endelstow  he  had  felt 
none    of   that    exquisite    nicety    of   poignant    sadness 

222 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

natural  to  such  severances,  seeing  how  delightful  a 
subject  of  contemplation  Elfride  had  been  ever  since. 
Had  he  begun  to  love  her  when  she  met  his  eye  after 
her  mishap  on  the  tower?  He  had  simply  thought 
her  weak.  Had  he  grown  to  love  her  whilst  standing 
on  the  lawn  brightened  all  over  by  the  evening  sun? 
He  had  thought  her  complexion  good  :  no  more.  Was 
it  her  conversation  that  had  sown  the  seed?  He  had 
thought  her  words  ingenious,  and  very  creditable  to  a 
young  woman,  but  not  noteworthy.  Had  the  chess- 
playing  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  Certainly  not :  he  had 
thought  her  at  that  time  a  rather  conceited  child. 

Knight's  experience  was  a  complete  disproof  of  the 
assumption  that  love  always  comes  by  glances  of  the 
eye  and  sympathetic  touches  of  the  fingers  :  that,  like 
flame,  it  makes  itself  palpable  at  the  moment  of  genera- 
tion. Not  till  they  were  parted,  and  she  had  become 
sublimated  in  his  memory,  could  he  be  said  to  have 
even  attentively  regarded  her. 

Thus,  having  passively  gathered  up  images  of  her 
which  his  mind  did  not  act  upon  till  the  cause  of  them 
was  no  longer  before  him,  he  appeared  to  himself  to 
have  fallen  in  love  with  her  soul,  which  had  tempor- 
arily assumed  its  disembodiment  to  accompany  him 
on  his  way. 

She  began  to  rule  him  so  imperiously  now  that, 
accustomed  to  analysis,  he  almost  trembled  at  the 
possible  result  of  the  introduction  of  this  new  force 
among  the  nicely  adjusted  ones  of  his  ordinary  life. 
He  became  restless  :  then  he  forgot  all  collateral  sub- 
jects in  the  pleasure  of  thinking  about  her. 

Yet  it  must  be  said  that  Knight  loved  philosophi- 
cally rather  than  with  romance. 

He  thought  of  her  manner  towards  him.  Simplicity 
verges  on  coquetry.  Was  she  flirting  ?  he  said  to  him- 
self. No  forcible  translation  of  favour  into  suspicion 
was  able  to  uphold  such  a  theory.  The  performance 
.223 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

had  been  too  well  done  to  be  anything  but  real.  It 
had  the  defects  without  which  nothing  is  genuine.  No 
actress  of  twenty  years'  standing,  no  bald-necked  lady 
whose  earliest  season  '  out '  was  lost  in  the  discreet 
mist  of  evasive  talk,  could  have  played  before  him  the 
part  of  ingenuous  girl  as  Elfride  lived  it.  She  had  the 
little  artful  ways  which  partly  make  up  ingenuousness. 

There  are  bachelors  by  nature  and  bachelors  by 
circumstance :  spinsters  there  doubtless  are  also  of 
both  kinds,  though  some  think  only  those  of  the  latter. 
However,  Knight  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  bachelor 
by  nature.  What  was  he  coming  to?  It  was  very 
odd  to  himself  to  look  at  his  theories  on  the  subject 
of  love,  and  reading  them  now  by  the  full  light  of  a 
new  experience,  to  see  how  much  more  his  sentences 
meant  than  he  had  felt  them  to  mean  when  they  were 
written.  People  often  discover  the  real  force  of  a  trite 
old  maxim  only  when  it  is  thrust  upon  them  by  a 
chance  adventure ;  but  Knight  had  never  before  known 
the  case  of  a  man  who  learnt  the  full  compass  of  his 
own  epigrams  by  such  means. 

He  was  intensely  satisfied  with  one  aspect  of  the 
affair.  Inbred  in  him  was  an  invincible  objection  to 
be  any  but  the  first  comer  in  a  woman's  heart.  He 
had  discovered  within  himself  the  condition  that  if 
ever  he  did  make  up  his  mind  to  marry,  it  must  be 
on  the  certainty  that  no  cropping  out  of  inconvenient 
old  letters,  no  bow  and  blush  to  a  mysterious  stranger 
casually  met,  should  be  a  possible  source  of  discom- 
posure. Knight's  sentiments  were  only  the  ordinary 
ones  of  a  man  of  his  age  who  loves  genuinely,  perhaps 
exaggerated  a  little  by  his  pursuits.  When  men  first 
love  as  lads,  it  is  with  the  very  centre  of  their  hearts, 
nothing  else  being  concerned  in  the  operation.  With 
added  years,  more  of  the  faculties  attempt  a  partner- 
ship in  the  passion,  till  at  Knight's  age  the  under- 
standing is  fain  to  have  a  hand  in  it.  It  may  as  well 
224 


/ 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 


be  left  out.  A  man  in  love  setting  up  his  brains  as 
a  gauge  of  his  position  is  as  one  determining  a  ship's 
longitude  from  a  light  at  the  mast-head. 

Knight  argued  from  Elfride's  unwontedness  of  man- 
ner, which  was  matter  of  fact,  to  an  unwontedness  in 
love,  which  was  matter  of  inference  only.  Incredules 
Us  plus  credules.  '  Elfride,'  he  said,  '  had  hardly  looked 
upon  a  man  till  she  saw  me.* 

He  had  never  forgotten  his  severity  to  her  because 
she  preferred  ornament  to  edification,  and  had  since 
excused  her  a  hundred  times  by  thinking  how  natural 
to  womankind  was  a  love  of  adornment,  and  how 
necessary  became  a  mild  infusion  of  personal  vanity 
to  complete  the  delicate  and  fascinating  dye  of  the 
feminine  mind.  So  at  the  end  of  the  week's  absence, 
which  had  brought  him  as  far  as  Dublin,  he  resolved 
to  curtail  his  tour,  return  to  Endelstow,  and  commit 
himself  by  making  a  reality  of  the  hypothetical  offer 
of  that  Sunday  evening. 

Notwithstanding  that  he  had  concocted  a  great  deal 
of  paper  theory  on  social  amenities  and  modern  manners 
generally,  the  special  ounce  of  practice  was  wanting, 
and  now  for  his  life  Knight  could  not  recollect  whether 
it  was  considered  correct  to  give  a  young  lady  personal 
ornaments  l)efore  a  regular  engagement  to  marry  had 
been  initiated.  But  the  day  before  leaving  Dublin  he 
looked  around  anxiously  for  a  high-class  jewellery  estab- 
lishment, in  which  he  purchased  what  he  considered 
would  suit  her  best. 

It  was  with  a  most  awkward  and  unwonted  feeling 
that  after  entering  and  closing  the  door  of  his  room 
he  sat  down,  opened  the  morocco  case,  and  held  up 
each  of  the  fragile  bits  of  gold-work  before  his  eyes. 
Many  things  had  become  old  to  the  solitary  man  of 
letters,  but  these  were  new,  and  he  handled  like  a  child 
an  outcome  of  civilization  which  had  never  before  been 
touched  by  his  fingers.  A  sudden  fastidious  decision 
225  P 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

that  the  pattern  chosen  would  not  suit  her  after  all 
caused  him  to  rise  in  a  flurry  and  tear  down  the  street 
to  change  them  for  others.  After  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  in  reselecting,  during  which  his  mind  became 
so  bewildered  that  the  critical  faculty  on  objects  of  art 
seemed  to  have  vacated  his  person  altogether,  Knight 
carried  off  another  pair  of  ear-rings.  These  remained 
in  his  possession  till  the  afternoon,  when,  after  con- 
templating them  fifty  times  with  a  growing  misgiving 
that  the  last  choice  was  worse  than  the  first,  he  felt 
that  no  sleep  would  visit  his  pillow  till  he  had  im- 
proved upon  his  previous  purchases  yet  again.  In  a 
perfect  heat  of  vexation  with  himself  for  such  tergiver- 
sation, he  went  anew  to  the  shop-door,  was  absolutely 
ashamed  to  enter  and  give  further  trouble,  went  to 
another  shop,  bought  a  pair  at  an  enormously  increased 
price,  because  they  seemed  the  very  thing,  asked  the 
goldsmiths  if  they  would  take  the  other  pair  in  exchange, 
was  told  that  they  could  not  exchange  articles  bought 
of  another  maker,  paid  down  the  money,  and  went  off 
with  the  two  pairs  in  his  possession,  wondering  what 
on  earth  to  do  with  the  superfluous  pair.  He  almost 
wished  he  could  lose  them,  or  that  somebody  would 
steal  them,  and  was  burdened  with  an  interposing  sense 
that,  as  a  capable  man,  with  true  ideas  of  economy,  he 
must  necessarily  sell  them  somewhere,  which  he  did 
at  last  for  a  mere  song.  Mingled  with  a  blank  feeling 
of  a  whole  day  being  lost  to  him  in  running  about  the 
city  on  this  new  and  extraordinary  class  of  errand,  and 
of  several  pounds  being  lost  through  his  bunghng,  was 
a  slight  sense  of  satisfaction  that  he  had  emerged  for 
ever  from  his  antediluvian  ignorance  on  the  subject  of 
ladies'  jewellery,  as  well  as  secured  a  truly  artistic  pro- 
duction at  last.  During  the  remainder  of  that  day  he 
scanned  the  ornaments  of  every  lady  he  met  with  the 
profoundly  experienced  eye  of  an  appraiser. 

Next  morning  Knight  was  again  crossing  St.  George's 
226 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

Channel — not  returning  to  London  by  the  Holyhead 
route  as  he  had  originally  intended,  but  towards  Bristol 
— availing  himself  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swancourt's  invita- 
tion to  revisit  them  on  his  homeward  journey. 

We  flit  forward  to  Elfride.  , 

Woman's  ruUng  passion — to  fascinate  and  influence  ! 
those  more  powerf"ul  than  she — though  operant  in  \ 
Elfride,  was  decidedly  purposeless.  She  had  wanted 
her  friend  Knight's  good  opinion  from  the  first  :  how 
much  more  than  that  elementary  ingredient  of  friend- 
ship she  now  desired,  her  fears  would  hardly  allow  her 
to  think.  In  originally  wishing  to  please  the  highest 
class  of  man  she  had  ever  intimately  known,  there  was 
no  disloyalty  to  Stephen  Smith.  She  could  not — and 
few  women  can — realize  the  possible  vastness  of  an  issue 
which  has  only  an  insignificant  begetting. 

Her  letters  from  Stephen  were  necessarily  few,  and 
her  sense  of  fidelity  clung  to  the  last  she  had  received 
as  a  wrecked  mariner  chngs  to  flotsam.  The  young 
girl  persuaded  herself  that  she  was  glad  Stephen  had 
such  a  right  to  her  hand  as  he  had  acquired  (in  her 
eyes)  by  the  elopement.  She  beguiled  herself  by  saying, 
*  Perhaps  if  I  had  not  so  committed  myself  I  might 
fall  in  love  with  Mr.  Knight.' 

All  this  made  the  week  of  Knight's  absence  very 
gloomy  and  distasteful  to  her.  She  retained  Stephen 
in  her  prayers,  and  his  old  letters  were  re-read — as  a 
medicine  in  reality,  though  she  deceived  herself  into 
the  belief  that  it  was  as  a  pleasure. 

These  letters  had  grown  more  and  more  hopeful. 
He  told  her  that  he  finished  his  work  every  day  with  a 
pleasant  consciousness  of  having  removed  one  more 
stone  from  the  barrier  which  divided  them.  Then  he 
drew  images  of  what  a  fine  figure  they  two  would  cut 
some  day.  People  would  turn  their  heads  and  say, 
'  What  a  prize  he  has  won ! '  She  was  not  to  be  sad 
about  that  wild  runaway  attempt  of  theirs  (Elfride  had 
227 


/_ 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

repeatedly  said  that  it  grieved  her).  Whatever  any 
other  person  who  knew  of  it  might  think,  he  knew  well 
enough  the  modesty  of  her  nature.  The  only  reproach 
was  a  gentle  one  for  not  having  written  quite  so  de- 
votedly during  her  visit  to  London.  Her  letter  had 
seemed  to  have  a  liveliness  derived  from  other  thoughts 
than  thoughts  of  him. 

Knight's  intention  of  an  early  return  to  Endelstow 
having  originally  been  faint,  his  promise  to  do  so  had 
been  fainter.  He  was  a  man  who  kept  his  words  well 
to  the  rear  of  his  possible  actions.  The  vicar  was 
rather  surprised  to  see  him  again  so  soon  :  Mrs.  Swan- 
court  was  not.  Knight  found,  on  meeting  them  all, 
after  his  arrival  had  been  announced,  that  they  had 
formed  an  intention  to  go  to  St.  Leonards  for  a  few 
days  at  the  end  of  the  month. 

No  satisfactory  conjuncture  offered  itself  on  this 
first  evening  of  his  return  for  presenting  Elfride  with 
what  he  had  been  at  such  pains  to  procure.  He  was 
fastidious  in  his  reading  of  opportunities  for  such  an 
intended  act.  The  next  morning  chancing  to  break 
fine  after  a  week  of  cloudy  weather,  it  was  proposed 
and  decided  that  they  should  all  drive  to  Barwith 
Strand,  a  local  lion  which  neither  Mrs.  Swancourt  nor 
Knight  had  seen.  Knight  scented  romantic  occa- 
sions from  afar,  and  foresaw  that  such  a  one  might  be 
expected  before  the  coming  night. 

The  journey  was  along  a  road  by  neutral  green  hills, 
upon  which  hedgerows  lay  traiUng  like  ropes  on  a  quay. 
Gaps  in  these  uplands  revealed  the  blue  sea,  flecked 
with  a  few  dashes  of  white  and  a  solitary  white  sail, 
the  whole  brimming  up  to  a  keen  horizon  which  lay 
like  a  line  ruled  from  hillside  to  hillside.  Theji  they 
rolled  down  a  pass,  the  chocolate-toned  rocks  forming 
a  wall  on  both  sides,  from  one  of  which  fell  a  heavy 
jagged  shade  over  half  the  roadway.  A  spout  of  fresh 
228 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

water  burst  from  an  occasional  crevice,  and  pattering 
down  upon  broad  green  leaves,  ran  along  as  a  rivulet 
at  the  bottom.  Unkempt  locks  of  heather  overhung 
the  brow  of  each  steep,  whence  at  divers  points  a 
bramble  swung  forth  into  mid-air,  snatching  at  their 
head-dresses  like  a  claw. 

They  mounted  the  last  crest,  and  the  bay  which  was 
to  be  the  end  of  their  pilgrimage  burst  upon  them.  The 
ocean  blueness  deepened  its  colour  as  it  stretched  to 
the  foot  of  the  crags,  where  it  terminated  in  a  fringe 
of  white — silent  at  this  distance,  though  moving  and 
heaving  Uke  a  counterpane  upon  a  restless  sleeper. 
The  shadowed  hollows  of  the  purple  and  brown  rocks 
would  have  been  called  blue  had  not  that  tint  been  so 
entirely  appropriated  by  the  water  beside  them. 

The  carriage  was  put  up  at  a  little  cottage  with  a 
shed  attached,  and  an  ostler  and  the  coachman  carried 
the  hamper  of  provisions  down  to  the  shore. 

Knight  found  his  opportunity.  '  I  did  not  forget 
your  wish,'  he  began,  when  they  were  apart  from  their 
friends. 

Elfride  looked  as  if  she  did  not  understand. 

'And  I  have  brought  you  these,'  he  continued, 
awkwardly  puUing  out  the  case,  and  opening  it  while 
holding  it  towards  her. 

'  O  Mr.  Knight,! '  said  Elfride  confusedly,  and  turn- 
ing to  a  lively  red ;  '  I  didn't  know  you  had  any  inten- 
tion or  meaning  in  what  you  said.  I  thought  it  a  mere 
supposition.      I  don't  want  them.' 

A  thought  which  had  flashed  into  her  mind  gave  the 
reply  a  greater  decisiveness  than  it  might  otherwise  have 
possessed.  To-morrow  was  the  day  for  Stephen's 
letter. 

'  But  will  you  not  accept  them  ? '  Knight  returned, 
feeling  less  her  master  thaji  heretofore. 

'I  would  rather  not.  They  are  beautiful — more 
beautiful  than  any  I  have  ever  seen,'  she  answered 
229 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

earnestly,  looking  half- wishfully  at  the  temptation,  as 
Eve  may  have  looked  at  the  apple.  '  But  I  don't  want 
to  have  them,  if  you  will  kindly  forgive  me,  Mr. 
Knight.' 

*  No  kindness  at  all,'  said  Mr.  Knight,  brought  to 
a  full  stop  at  this  unexpected  turn  of  events. 

A  silence  followed.  Knight  held  the  open  case, 
looking  rather  wofully  at  the  glittering  forms  he  had 
forsaken  his  orbit  to  procure;  turning  it  about  and 
holding  it  up  as  if,  feeling  his  gift  to  be  slighted  by 
her,  he  were  endeavouring  to  admire  it  very  much 
himself. 

'  Shut  them  up,  and  don't  let  me  see  them  any 
longer — do ! '  she  said  laughingly,  and  with  a  quaint 
mixture  of  reluctance  and  entreaty. 

<  Why,  Elfie  ?  ' 

*  Not  Elfie  to  you,  Mr.  Knight.  Oh,  because  I 
shall  want  them.  There,  I  am  silly,  I  know,  to  say 
that !  But  I  have  a  reason  for  not  taking  them — now.' 
She  kept  in  the  last  word  for  a  moment,  intending  to 
imply  that  her  refusal  was  finite,  but  somehow  the  word 
shpped  out,  and  undid  all  the*  rest. 

'  You  will  take  them  some  day  ?  ' 

*  I  don't  want  to.' 

'  Why  don't  you  want  to,  Elfride  Swancourt  ?  ' 

*  Because  I  don't.     I  don't  like  to  take  them.' 

*  I  have  read  a  fact  of  distressing  significance  in 
that,'  said  Knight.  '  Since  you  like  them,  your  dislike 
to  having  them  must  be  towards  me  ? ' 

« No,  it  isn't.' 

*  What,  then  ?     Do  you  like  me  ?  ' 

Elfride  deepened  in  tint,  and  looked  into  the 
distance  with  features  shaped  to  an  expression  of  the 
nicest  criticism  as  regarded  her  answer. 

*  I  like  you  pretty  well,'  she  at  length  murmured 
mildly. 

*  Not  very  much  ? ' 

230 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*You  are  so  sharp  with  me,  and  say  hard  things, 
and  so  how  can  I  ? '  she  repUed  evasively. 

'  You  think  me  a  fogey,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  don't — I  mean  I  do—  I  don't  know  what  I 
think  you,  I  mean.  Let  us  go  to  papa,'  responded 
Elfride,  with  somewhat  of  a  flurried  delivery. 

*  Well,  I'll  tell  you  my  object  in  getting  the  present,' 
said  Knight,  with  a  composure  intended  to  remove 
from  her  mind  any  possible  impression  of  his  being 
what  he  was — her  lover.  *  You  see  it  was  the  very 
least  I  could  do  in  common  civility.' 

Elfride  felt  rather  blank  at  this  lucid  statement. 

Knight  continued,  putting  away  the  case :  '  I  felt  as 
anybody  naturally  would  have,  you  know,  that  my  words 
on  your  choice  the  other  day  were  invidious  and  unfair, 
and  thought  an  apology  should  take  a  practical  shape.' 

'  Oh  yes.' 

Elfride  was  sorry — she  could  not  tell  why — that  he 
gave  such  a  legitimate  reason.  It  was  a  disappointment 
that  he  had  all  the  time  a  cool  motive,  which  might 
be  stated  to  anybody  without  raising  a  smile.  Had 
she  known  they  were  offered  in  that  spirit,  she  would 
certainly  have  accepted  the  seductive  gift.  And  the 
tantalizing  feature  was  that  perhaps  he  suspected  her 
to  imagine  them  offered  as  a  lover's  token,  which  was 
mortifying  enough  if  they  were  not. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  came  now  to  where  they  were  sitting, 
to  select  a  flat  boulder  for  spreading  their  table-cloth 
upon,  and,  amid  the  discussion  on  that  subject,  the 
matter  pending  between  Knight  and  Elfride  was  shelved 
for  a  while.  He  read  her  refusal  so  certainly  as  the 
bashfulness  of  a  girl  in  a  novel  position,  that,  upon 
the  whole,  he  could  tolerate  such  a  beginning.  Could 
Knight  have  been  told  that  it  was  a  sense  of  fidelity 
struggling  against  new  love,  whilst  no  less  assuring 
as  to  his  ultimate  victory,  it  might  have  entirely  ab- 
stracted the  wish  to  secure  it. 
231 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

At  the  same  time  a  slight  constraint  of  manner  was 
visible  between  them  for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon. 
The  tide  turned,  and  they  were  obliged  to  ascend  to 
higher  ground.  The  day  glided  on  to  its  end  with  the 
usual  quiet  dreamy  passivity  of  such  occasions — when 
every  deed  done  and  thing  thought  is  in  endeavouring 
to  avoid  doing  and  thinking  more.  Looking  idly  over 
the  verge  of  a  crag,  they  beheld  their  stone  dining-table 
gradually  being  splashed  upon  and  their  crumbs  and 
fragments  all  washed  away  by  the  incoming  sea.  The 
vicar  drew  a  moral  lesson  from  the  scene;  Knight 
replied  in  the  same  satisfied  strain.  And  then  the 
waves  rolled  in  furiously — the  neutral  green-and-blue 
tongues  of  water  slid  up  the  slopes,  and  were  metamor- 
phosed into  foam  by  a  carele  < ;  blow,  falling  back  white 
and  faint,  and  leaving  trailing  followers  behind. 

The  passing  of  a  heavy  shower  was  the  next  scene — 
driving  them  to  shelter  in  a  shallow  cave — after  which 
the  horses  were  put  in,  and  they  started  to  return 
homeward.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  higher  levels 
the  sky  had  again  cleared,  and  the  sunset  rays  glanced 
directly  upon  the  wet  uphill  road  they  had  climbed. 
The  ruts  formed  by  their  carriage-wheels  on  the  ascent 
— a  pair  of  Liliputian  canals  — were  as  shining  bars  of 
gold,  tapering  to  nothing  in  the  distance.  Upon  this  also 
they  turned  their  backs,  and  night  spread  over  the  sea. 

The  evening  was  chilly,  and  there  was  no  moon. 
Knight  sat  close  to  Elfride,  and,  when  the  darkness 
rendered  the  position  of  a  person  a  matter  of  uncer- 
tainty, particularly  close.     Elfride  edged  away. 

'  I  hope  you  allow  me  my  place  ungrudgingly  ?  '  he 
whispered. 

*  Oh  yes  ;  'tis  the  least  I  can  do  in  common  civility,' 
she  said,  accenting  the  words  so  that  he  might  recognize 
them  as  his  own  returned. 

Both  of  them  felt  delicately  balanced  between  two 
possibilities.     Thus  they  reached  home. 
232 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

To  Knight  this  mild  experience  was  delightful.  It 
was  to  him  a  gentle  innocent  time — a  time  which, 
though  there  may  not  be  much  in  it,  seldom  repeats 
itself  in  a  man's  Hfe,  and  has  a  peculiar  dearness  when 
glanced  at  retrospectively.  He  is  not  inconveniently 
deep  in  love,  and  is  lulled  by  a  peaceful  sense  of  being 
able  to  enjoy  the  most  trivial  thing  with  a  childHke 
enjoyment.  The  movement  of  a  wave,  the  colour  of 
a  stone,  anything,  was  enough  for  Knight's  drowsy 
thoughts  of  that  day  to  precipitate  themselves  upon. 
Even  the  sermonizing  platitudes  the  vicar  had  delivered 
himself  of — chiefly  because  something  seemed  to  be 
professionally  required  of  him  in  the  presence  of  a  man 
of  Knight's  proclivities — were  swallowed  whole.  The 
presence  of  Elfride  led  him  not  merely  to  tolerate  that 
kind  of  talk  from  the  necessities  of  ordinary  courtesy ; 
but  he  listened  to  it — took  in  the  ideas  with  an  enjoy- 
able make-believe  that  they  were  proper  and  necessary, 
and  indulged  in  a  conservative  feeling  that  the  face  of 
things  was  complete. 

Entering  her  room  that  evening  Elfride  found  a 
packet  for  herself  on  the  dressing-table.  How  it  came 
there  she  did  not  know.  She  tremblingly  undid  the 
folds  of  white  paper  that  covered  it.  Yes ;  it  was  the 
treasure  of  a  morocco  case,  containing  those  treasures 
of  ornament  she  had  refused  in  the  daytime. 

Elfride  dressed  herself  in  them  for  a  moment,  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass,  blushed  red,  and  put  them  away. 
They  filled  her  dreams  all  that  night.  Never  had  she 
seen  anything  so  lovely,  and  never  was  it  more  clear 
that  as  an  honest  woman  she  was  in  duty  bound  to 
refuse  them.  Why  it  was  not  equally  clear  to  her  that 
duty  required  more  vigorous  co-ordinate  conduct  as 
well,  let  those  who  dissect  her  say. 

The  next  morning  glared  in  like  a  spectre  upon 
her.  It  was  Stephen's  letter-day,  and  she  was  bound 
to  meet  the  postman — to  stealthily  do  a  deed  she 
0  233 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

had  never  liked,  to  secure  an  end  she  now  had  ceased 
to  desire. 

But  she  went. 

There  were  two  letters. 

One  was  from  the  bank  at  St.  Launce's,  in  which  she 
had  a  small  private  deposit — probably  something  about 
interest.  She  put  that  in  her  pocket  for  a  moment,  and 
going  indoors  and  upstairs  to  be  safer  from  observation, 
tremblingly  opened  Stephen's. 

What  was  this  he  said  to  her  ? 

She  was  to  go  to  the  St.  Launce's  Bank  and  take 
a  sum  of  money  which  they  had  received  private  advices 
to  pay  her. 

The  sum  was  two  hundred  pounds. 

There  was  no  check,  order,  or  anything  of  the 
nature  of  guarantee.  In  fact  the  information  amounted 
to  this  :  the  money  was  now  in  the  St.  Launce's  Bank, 
standing  in  her  name. 

She  instantly  opened  the  other  letter.  It  contained 
a  deposit-note  from  the  bank  for  the  sum  of  two 
hundred  pounds  which  had  that  day  been  added  to 
her  account.  Stephen's  information,  then,  was  correct, 
and  the  transfer  made. 

'  I  have  saved  this  in  one  year,'  Stephen's  letter 
went  on  to  say,  'and  what  so  proper  as  well  as  pleasant 
for  me  to  do  as  to  hand  it  over  to  you  to  keep  for 
your  use  ?  I  have  plenty  for  myself,  independently 
of  this.  Should  you  not  be  disposed  to  let  it  lie  idle 
in  the  bank,  get  your  father  to  invest  it  in  your  name 
on  good  security.  It  is  a  little  present  to  you  from 
your  more  than  betrothed.  He  will,  I  think,  Elfride, 
feel  now  that  my  pretensions  to  your  hand  are  any- 
thing but  the  dream  of  a  silly  boy  not  worth  rational 
consideration.' 

With  a  natural  delicacy,  Elfride,  in  mentioning  her 
father's  marriage,  had  refrained  from  all  allusion  to  the 
pecuniary  resources  of  the  lady. 
234 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

Leaving  this  matter-of-fact  subject,  he  went  on, 
somewhat  after  his  boyish  manner  : 

*  Do  you  remember,  darUng,  that  first  morning  of  my 
arrival  at  your  house,  when  your  father  read  at  prayers 
the  miracle  of  healing  the  sick  of  the  palsy — where  he 
is  told  to  take  up  his  bed  and  walk  ?  I  do,  and  I  can 
now  so  well  realize  the  force  of  that  passage.  The 
smallest  piece  of  mat  is  the  bed  of  the  Oriental,  and 
yesterday  I  saw  a  native  perform  the  very  action,  which 
reminded  me  to  mention  it.  But  you  are  better  read 
than  I,  and  perhaps  you  knew  all  this  long  ago.  .  .  . 
One  day  I  bought  some  small  native  idols  to  send  home 
to  you  as  curiosities,  but  afterwards  finding  they  had 
been  cast  in  England,  made  to  look  old,  and  shipped 
over,  I  threw  them  away  in  disgust. 

'  Speaking  of  this  reminds  me  that  we  are  obliged  to 
import  all  our  house-building  ironwork  from  England. 
Never  was  such  foresight  required  to  be  exercised  in 
building  houses  as  here.  Before  we  begin,  we  have 
to  order  every  column,  lock,  hinge,  and  screw  that  will 
be  required.  We  cannot  go  into  the  next  street,  as 
in  London,  and  get  them  cast  at  a  minute's  notice. 
Mr.  L.  says  somebody  will  have  to  go  to  England  very 
soon  and  superintend  the  selection  of  a  large  order  of 
this  kind.     I  only  wish  I  may  be  the  man.' 

There  before  her  lay  the  deposit-receipt  for  the  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  beside  it  the  elegant  present  of 
Knight.  Elfride  grew  cold — then  her  cheeks  felt 
heated  by  beating  blood.  If  by  destroying  the  piece 
of  paper  the  whole  transaction  could  have  been  with- 
drawn from  her  experience,  she  would  willingly  have 
sacrificed  the  money  it  represented.  She  did  not  know 
what  to  do  in  either  case.  She  almost  feared  to  let 
the  two  articles  He  in  juxtaposition :  so  antagonistic 
were  the  interests  they  represented  that  a  miraculous 
repulsion  of  one  by  the  other  was  almost  to  be  expected. 

That  day  she  was  seen  little  of.  By  the  evening 
235 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

she  had  come  to  a  resolution,  and  acted  upon  it. 
The  packet  was  sealed  up — with  a  tear  of  regret  as 
she  closed  the  case  upon  the  pretty  forms  it  con- 
tained— directed,  and  placed  upon  the  writing-table  in 
Knight's  room.  And  a  letter  was  written  to  Stephen, 
stating  that  as  yet  she  hardly  understood  her  position 
with  regard  to  the  money  sent ;  but  declaring  that  she 
was  ready  to  fulfil  her  promise  to  marry  him.  After 
this  letter  had  been  written  she  delayed  posting  it — 
although  never  ceasing  to  feel  strenuously  that  the 
deed  must  be  done. 

Several  days  passed.  There  was  another  Indian 
letter  for  Elfride.  Coming  unexpectedly,  her  father 
saw  it,  but  made  no  remark — why,  she  could  not  tell. 
The  news  this  time  was  absolutely  overwhelming. 
Stephen,  as  he  had  wished,  had  been  actually  chosen 
as  the  most  fitting  to  execute  the  iron-work  commission 
he  had  alluded  to  as  impending.  This  duty  completed 
he  would  have  three  months'  leave.  His  letter  con- 
tinued that  he  should  follow  it  in  a  week,  and  should 
take  the  opportunity  to  plainly  ask  her  father  to  per- 
mit the  engagement.  Then  came  a  page  expressive  of 
his  delight  and  hers  at  the  reunion ;  and  finally,  the 
information  that  he  would  write  to  the  shipping  agents, 
asking  them  to  telegraph  and  tell  her  when  the  ship 
bringing  him  home  should  be  in  sight — knowing  how 
acceptable  such  information  would  be. 

Elfride  Uved  and  moved  now  as  in  a  dream.  Knight 
had  at  first  become  almost  angry  at  her  persistent 
refusal  of  his  offering — and  no  less  with  the  manner 
than  the  fact  of  it.  But  he  saw  that  she  began  to 
look  worn  and  ill — and  his  vexation  lessened  to  simple 
perplexity. 

He  ceased  now  to  remain  in  the  house  for  long 
hours  together  as  before,  but  made  it  a  mere  centre  for 
antiquarian  and  geological  excursions  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Throw  up  his  cards  and  go  away  he  fain  would 
236 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

have  done,  but  could  not.  And,  thus,  availing  himself 
of  the  privileges  of  a  relative,  he  went  in  and  out  the 
premises  as  fancy  led  him — but  still  lingered  on. 

'  I  don't  wish  to  stay  here  another  day  if  my  presence 
is  distasteful,'  he  said  one  afternoon.  'At  first  you 
used  to  imply  that  I  was  severe  with  you ;  and  when  I 
am  kind  you  treat  me  unfairly.' 

'  No,  no.     Don't  say  so.' 

The  origin  of  their  acquaintanceship  had  been  such 
as  to  render  their  manner  towards  each  other  peculiar 
and  uncommon.  It  was  of  a  kind  to  cause  them  to 
speak  out  their  minds  on  any  feelings  of  objection  and 
difference  :  to  be  reticent  on  gentler  matters. 

*  I  have  a  good  mind  to  go  away  and  never  trouble 
you  again,'  continued  Knight. 

She  said  nothing,  but  the  eloquent  expression  of 
her  eyes  and  wan  face  was  enough  to  reproach  him 
for  harshness. 

'  Do  you  like  me  to  be  here,  then  ?  '  inquired  Knight 
gently. 

*  Yes,'  she  said.  Fidelity  to  the  old  love  and  truth 
to  the  new  were  ranged  on  opposite  sides,  and  truth 
virtuelessly  prevailed. 

'  Then  I'll  stay  a  Httle  longer,'  said  Knight. 

'  Don't  be  vexed  if  I  keep  by  myself  a  good  deal, 
will  you  ?  Perhaps  something  may  happen,  and  I  may 
tell  you  something.' 

'  Mere  coyness,'  said  Knight  to  himself;  and  went 
away  with  a  lighter  heart.  The  trick  of  reading  truly 
the  enigmatical  forces  at  work  in  women  at  given  times, 
which  with  some  men  is  an  unerring  instinct,  is  peculiar 
to  minds  less  direct  and  honest  than  Knight's. 

The  next  evening,  about  five  o'clock,  before  Knight 
had  returned  from  a  pilgrimage  along  the  shore,  a  man 
walked  up  to  the  house.  He  was  a  messenger  from 
Camelton,  a  town  a  few  miles  off,  to  which  place  the 
railway  had  been  advanced  during  the  summer. 
237 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*A  telegram  for  Miss  Swancourt,  and  three  and 
sixpence  to  pay  for  the  special  messenger.' 

Miss  Swancourt  sent  out  the  money,  signed  the  paper, 
and  opened  her  letter  with  a  trembling  hand.     She  read  : 

^ Johnson^  Liverpool^  to  Miss  Swancourt^  Endelstow^ 
near  Castle  Boterel. 

^Amaryllis  telegraphed  off  Holyhead^  four  d clock. 
Expect  will  dock  and  land  passengers  at  Cannings  Basin 
ten  o\lock  to-morrow  morning.^ 

Her  father  called  her  into  the  study. 

*  Elfride,  who  sent  you  that  message  ? '  he  asked 
suspiciously. 

*  Johnson.' 

*  Who  is  Johnson,  for  Heaven's  sake  ? ' 
'  I  don't  know.' 

'  The  deuce  you  don't !     Who  is  to  know,  then  ? ' 

*  I  have  never  heard  of  him  till  now.' 

*  That's  a  singular  story,  isn't  it.' 

*  I  don't  know.' 

*  Come,  come,  miss  !     What  was  the  telegram  ? ' 

*  Do  you  really  wish  to  know,  papa  ? ' 
'  Well,  I  do.' 

*  Remember,  I  am  a  full-grown  woman  now.' 

*  Well,  what  then  ?  ' 

'  Being  a  woman,  and  not  a  child,  I  may,  I  think, 
have  a  secret  or  two.' 

*  You  will,  it  seems.' 

'  W^omen  have,  as  a  rule.' 

'  But  don't  keep  them.     So  speak  out.' 

*  If  you  will  not  press  me  now,  I  give  my  word  to 
tell  you  the  meaning  of  all  this  before  the  week  is  past.' 

*■  On  your  honour  ?  ' 

*  On  my  honour.' 

*  Very  well.     I   have  had  a  certain  suspicion,  you 

238 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

know ;  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  find  it  false.     I  don't 
like  your  manner  lately.' 

'  At  the  end  of  the  week,  I  said,  papa.' 

Her  father  did  not  reply,  and  Elfride  left  the  room. 

She  began  to  look  out  for  the  postman  again. 
Three  mornings  later  he  brought  an  inland  letter  from 
Stephen.  It  contained  very  little  matter,  having  been 
written  in  haste;  but  the  meaning  was  bulky  enough. 
Stephen  said  that,  having  executed  a  commission  in 
Liverpool,  he  should  arrive  at  his  father's  house,  East 
Endelstow,  at  five  or  six  o'clock  that  same  evening; 
that  he  would  after  dusk  walk  on  to  the  next  village, 
and  meet  her,  if  she  would,  in  the  church  porch,  as  in 
the  old  time.  He  proposed  this  plan  because  he 
thought  it  unadvisable  to  call  formally  at  her  house  so 
late  in  the  evening;  yet  he  could  not  sleep  without 
having  seen  her.  The  minutes  would  seem  hours  till 
he  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

Elfride  was  still  steadfast  in  her  opinion  that  honour 
compelled  her  to  meet  him.  Probably  the  very  longing  to 
avoid  him  lent  additional  weight  to  the  conviction ;  for  she 
was  markedly  one  of  those  who  sigh  for  the  unattainable 
— to  whom,  superlatively,  a  hope  is  pleasing  because  not 
a  possession.  And  she  knew  it  so  well  that  her  intel-  ^ 
lect  was  inclined  to  exaggerate  this  defect  in  herself. 

So  during  the  day  she  looked  her  duty  steadfastly  in 
the  face ;  read  Wordsworth's  astringent  yet  depressing 
ode  to  that  Deity ;  committed  herself  to  her  guidance ; 
and  still  felt  the  weight  of  chance  desires. 

But  she  began  to  take  a  melancholy  pleasure  in 
contemplating  the  sacrifice  of  herself  to  the  man  whom 
a  maidenly  sense  of  propriety  compelled  her  to  regard 
as  her  only  possible  husband.  She  would  meet  him, 
and  do  all  that  lay  in  her  power  to  marry  him.  To 
guard  against  a  relapse,  a  note  was  at  once  despatched 
to  his  father's  cottage  for  Stephen  on  his  arrival,  fixing 
an  hour  for  the  interview. 

239 


XXI 

'  On  thy  cold  grey  stones,  O  sea ! ' 

Stephen  had  said  that  he  should  come  by  way  of 
Bristol,  and  thence  by  a  steamer  to  Castle  Boterel,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  long  journey  over  the  hills  from  St. 
Launce's.  He  did  not  know  of  the  extension  of  the 
railway  to  Camel  ton. 

During  the  afternoon  a  thought  occurred  to  Elfride, 
that  from  any  cHif  along  the  shore  it  would  be  possible 
to  see  the  steamer  some  hours  before  its  arrival. 

She  had  accumulated  religious  force  enough  to  do 
an  act  of  supererogation.  The  act  was  this — to  go  to 
some  point  of  land  and  watch  for  the  ship  that  brought 
her  future  husband  home. 

It  was  a  cloudy  afternoon.  Elfride  was  often 
diverted  from  a  purpose  by  a  dull  sky;  and  though 
she  used  to  persuade  herself  that  the  weather  was  as 
fine  as  possible  on  the  other  side  of  the  clouds,  she 
could  not  bring  about  any  practical  result  from  this 
fancy.  Now,  her  mood  was  such  that  the  humid  sky 
harmonized  with  it. 

Having  ascended  and  passed  over  a  hill  behind  the 
house,  Elfride  came  to  a  small  stream.  She  used  it 
as  a  guide  to  the  coast.  It  was  smaller  than  that  in 
240 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

her  own  valley,  and  flowed  altogether  at  a  higher  level. 
Bushes  lined  the  slopes  of  its  shallow  trough ;  but  at 
the  bottom,  where  the  water  ran,  was  a  soft  green 
carpet,  in  a  strip  two  or  three  yards  wide. 

In  winter,  the  water  flowed  over  the  grass;  in 
summer,  as  now,  it  trickled  along  a  channel  in  the 
midst. 

Elfride  had  a  sensation  of  eyes  regarding  her  from 
somewhere.  She  turned,  and  there  was  Mr.  Knight. 
He  had  dropped  into  the  valley  from  the  side  of  the 
hill.  She  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  and  rebelliously 
allowed  it  to  exist. 

*  \Vhat  utter  loneliness  to  find  you  in  ! ' 

*  I  am  going  to  the  shore  by  tracking  the  stream. 
I  believe  it  empties  itself  not  far  off,  in  a  silver  thread 
of  water,  over  a  cascade  of  great  height.' 

'  Why  do  you  load  yourself  with  that  heavy  tele- 
scope ? ' 

*  To  look  over  the  sea  with  it,'  she  said  faintly. 

*  I'll  carry  it  for  you  to  your  journey's  end.'  And 
he  took  the  glass  from  her  unresisting  hands.  '  It 
cannot  be  half  a  mile  further.  See,  there  is  the  water.' 
He  pointed  to  a  short  fragment  of  level  muddy-gray 
colour,  cutting  against  the  sky. 

Elfride  had  already  scanned  the  small  surface  of 
ocean  visible,  and  had  seen  no  ship. 

They  walked  along  in  company,  sometimes  with  the 
brook  between  them — for  it  was  no  wider  than  a  man's 
stride — sometimes  close  together.  The  green  carpet 
grew  swampy,  and  they  kept  higher  up. 

One  of  the  two  ridges  between  which  they  walked 
dwindled  lower  and  became  insignificant.  That  on 
the  right  hand  rose  with  their  advance,  and  terminated 
in  a  clearly  defined  edge  against  the  light,  as  if  it  were 
abruptly  sawn  off.  A  little  further,  and  the  bed  of 
the  rivulet  ended  in  the  same  fashion. 

They  had  come  to  a  bank  breast-high,  and  over  it 
241  Q 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

the  valley  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  It  was  withdrawn 
cleanly  and  completely.  In  its  place  was  sky  and 
boundless  atmosphere ;  and  perpendicularly  down  be- 
neath them — small  and  far  off — lay  the  corrugated 
surface  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  small  stream  here  found  its  death.  Running 
over  the  precipice  it  was  dispersed  in  spray  before  it 
was  half-way  down,  and  falling  like  rain  upon  project- 
ing ledges,  made  minute  grassy  meadows  of  them.  At 
the  bottom  the  water-drops  soaked  away  amid  the 
d(^bris  of  the  cliff.  This  was  the  inglorious  end  of 
the  river. 

*  What  are  you  looking  for  ?  '  said  Knight,  following 
the  direction  of  her  eyes. 

She  was  gazing  hard  at  a  black  object — nearer  to 
the  shore  than  to  the  horizon — from  the  summit  of 
which  came  a  nebulous  haze,  stretching  like  gauze 
over  the  sea. 

*  The  Puffin^  a  little  summer  steamboat — from  Bristol 
to  Castle  Boterel,'  she  said.  *  I  think  that  is  it — look. 
Will  you  give  me  the  glass  ?  ' 

Knight  pulled  open  the  old-fashioned  but  powerful 
telescope,  and  handed  it  to  Elfride,  who  had  looked 
on  with  heavy  eyes. 

'  I  can't  keep  it  up  now,'  she  said. 

*  Rest  it  on  my  shoulder.' 

*  It  is  too  high.' 

'  Under  my  arm.' 

*  Too  low.  You  may  look  instead,'  she  murmured 
weakly. 

Knight  raised  the  glass  to  his  eye,  and  swept  the 
sea  till  the  Puffin  entered  its  field. 

*  Yes,  it  is  the  Puffin — a  tiny  craft.  I  can  see  her 
figure-head  distinctly — a  bird  with  a  beak  as  big  as  its 
head.' 

*  Can  you  see  the  deck  ?  ' 

*  Wait  a  minute  ;  yes,  pretty  clearly.     And  I   can 

242 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

see  the  black  forms  of  the  passengers  against  its  white 
surface.  One  of  them  has  taken  something  from  I 
another — a  glass,  I  think — yes,  it  is — and  he  is  level- 1 
ling  it  in  this  direction.  Depend  upon  it  we  are  con- 
spicuous objects  against  the  sky  to  them.  Now,  it 
seems  to  rain  upon  them,  and  they  put  on  overcoats 
and  open  umbrellas.  They  vanish  and  go  below — all 
but  that  one  who  has  borrowed  the  glass.  He  is  a 
slim  young  fellow,  and  still  watches  us.' 

Elfride  grew  pale,  and  shifted  her  little  feet  uneasily. 

Knight  lowered  the  glass. 

'  I  think  we  had  better  return,'  he  said.  '  That 
cloud  which  is  raining  on  them  may  soon  reach  us. 
Why,  you  look  ill.     How  is  that  ?  ' 

'  Something  in  the  air  affects  my  face.' 

'  Those  fair  cheeks  are  very  fastidious,  I  fear,'  re- 
turned Knight  tenderly.  '  This  air  would  make  those 
rosy  that  were  never  so  before,  one  would  think — eh, 
Nature's  spoilt  child  ?  ' 

Elfride's  colour  returned  again. 

'There  is  more  to  see  behind  us,  after  all,'  said 
Knight. 

She  turned  her  back  upon  the  boat  and  Stephen 
Smith,  and  saw,  towering  still  higher  than  themselves, 
the  vertical  face  of  the  hill  on  the  right,  which  did  not 
project  seaward  so  far  as  the  bed  of  the  valley,  but 
formed  the  back  of  a  small  cove,  and  so  was  visible 
like  a  concave  wall,  bending  round  from  their  position 
towards  the  left. 

The  composition  of  the  huge  hill  was  revealed  to  its 
backbone  and  marrow  here  at  its  rent  extremity.  It 
consisted  of  a  vast  stratification  of  blackish-gray  slate, 
unvaried  in  its  whole  height  by  a  single  change  of 
shade. 

It  is  with  cUffs  and  mountains  as   with  persons; 
they  have   what    is    called  a   presence,   which    is    not 
necessarily  proportionate  to  their  actual  bulk.     A  little 
243 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

cliff  will  impress  you  powerfully;  a  great  one  not  at 
all.  It  depends,  as  with  man,  upon  the  countenance  of 
the  cliff. 

'  I  cannot  bear  to  look  at  that  cliff,'  said  Elfride. 
'  It  has  a  horrid  personality,  and  makes  me  shudder. 
We  will  go.' 

'  Can  you  climb  ?  '  said  Knight.  '  If  so,  we  will 
ascend  by  that  path  over  the  grim  old  fellow's  brow.' 

'  Try  me,'  said  Elfride  disdainfully.  '  I  have 
ascended  steeper  slopes  than  that.' 

From  where  they  had  been  loitering,  a  grassy  path 
wound  along  inside  a  bank,  placed  as  a  safeguard  for 
unwary  pedestrians,  to  the  top  of  the  precipice,  and 
over  it  along  the  hill  in  an  inland  direction. 

'  Take  my  arm.  Miss  Swancourt,'  said  Knight. 

*  I  can  get  on  better  without  it,  thank  you.' 

When  they  were  one  quarter  of  the  way  up,  Elfride 
stopped  to  take  breath.     Knight  stretched  out  his  hand. 

She  took  it,  and  they  ascended  the  remaining  slope 
together.  Reaching  the  very  top,  they  sat  down  to 
rest  by  mutual  consent. 

*  Heavens,  what  an  altitude ! '  said  Knight  between 
his  pants,  and  looking  far  over  the  sea.  The  cascade 
at  the  bottom  of  the  slope  appeared  a  mere  span  in 
height  from  where  they  were  now. 

Elfride  was  looking  to  the  left.  The  steamboat  was 
in  full  view  again,  and  by  reason  of  the  vast  sur- 
face of  sea  their  higher  position  uncovered  it  seemed 
almost  close  to  the  shore. 

*  Over  that  edge,'  said  Knight,  '  where  nothing  but 
vacancy  appears,  is  a  moving  compact  mass.  The  wind 
strikes  the  face  of  the  rock,  runs  up  it,  rises  like  a 
fountain  to  a  height  far  above  our  heads,  curls  over  us 
in  an  arch,  and  disperses  behind  us.  In  fact,  an  in- 
verted cascade  is  there — as  perfect  as  the  Niagara  Falls 
— but  rising  instead  of  falling,  and  air  instead  of  water. 
Now  look  here.' 

244 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

Knight  threw  a  stone  over  the  bank,  aiming  it  as  if 
to  go  onward  over  the  diff.  Reaching  the  verge,  it 
towered  into  the  air  like  a  bird,  turned  back,  and 
alighted  on  the  ground  behind  them.  They  themselves 
were  in  a  dead  calm. 

'A  boat  crosses  Niagara  immediately  at  the  foot  of 
the  falls,  where  the  water  is  quite  still,  the  falleri  mass 
curving  under  it.  We  are  in  precisely  the  same  posi- 
tion with  regard  to  our  atmospheric  catarac||  here.  If 
you  run  back  from  the  cliff  fifty  yards,  you  will  be  in  a 
brisk  wind.  Now  I  daresay  over  the  bank  is  a  little 
backward  current.'  f 

Knight  rose  and  leant  over  the  bank.  No  sooner 
was  his  head  above  it  than  his  hat  appeared  to  be 
sucked  from  his  head — sjj^ing  over  his  forehead  in 
a  seaward  direction.  ^ 

'  That's  the  backward  eddy,  as  I  told  you,'  he  cried, 
and  vanished  over  the  little  bank  after  his  hat. 

Elfride  waited  one  minute ;  he  did  not  return.  She 
waited  another,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  him. 

A  few  drops  of  rain  fell,  then  a  sudden  shower. 

She  arose,  and  looked  over  the  bank.  On  the 
other  side  were  two  or  three  yards  of  level  ground — 
then  a  short  steep  preparatory  slope — then  the  verge 
of  the  precipice. 

On  the  slope  was  Knight,  his  hat  on  his  head.  He 
was  on  his  hands  and  knees,  trying  to  climb  back  to 
the  level  ground.  The  rain  had  wetted  the  shaly  sur- 
face of  the  incline.  A  slight  superficial  wetting  of  the 
soil  hereabout  made  it  far  more  slippery  to  stand  on 
than  the  same  soil  thoroughly  drenched.  The  inner 
substance  was  still  hard,  and  was  lubricated  by  the  moist- 
ened film. 

'  I  find  a  difficulty  in  getting  back,'  said  Knight. 

Elfride's  heart  fell  like  lead. 

*  But  you  can  get  back  ? '  she  wildly  inquired. 

Knight  strove  with  all  his  might  for  two  or  three 
245 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

minutes,  and  the  drops  of  perspiration  began  to  bead 
his  brow. 

'  No,  I  am  unable  to  do  it,'  he  answered. 

Elfride,  by  a  wrench  of  thought,  forced  away  from 
her  mind  the  sensation  that  Knight  was  in  bodily 
danger.  But  attempt  to  help  him  she  must.  She 
ventured  upon  the  treacherous  incline,  propped  her- 
self with  the  closed  telescope,  and  gave  him  her  hand 
before  he  »aw  her  movements. 

*  O  Elfride  !  why  did  you  ? '  said  he.  *  I  am  afraid 
you  have  only  endangered  yourself.' 

And  as  if  to  prove  his  statement,  in  making  an 
endeavour  by  her  assistance  they  both  slipped  lower, 
and  then  he  was  again  stayed.  His  foot  was  propped 
by  a  bracket  of  quartz  roclfcbalanced  on  the  verge  of 
the  precipice.  Fixed  by  mis,  he  steadied  her,  her 
head  being  about  a  foot  below  the  beginning  of  the 
slope.  Elfride  had  dropped  the  glass ;  it  rolled  to  the 
edge  and  vanished  over  it  into  a  nether  sky. 

'  Hold  tightly  to  me,'  he  said. 

She  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck  with  such  a 
firm  grasp  that  whilst  he  remained  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  fall. 

'  Don't  be  flurried,'  Knight  continued.  '  So  long  as 
we  stay  above  this  block  we  are  perfectly  safe.  Wait  a 
moment  whilst  I  consider  what  we  had  better  do.' 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  dizzy  depths  beneath  them, 
and  surveyed  the  position  of  affairs. 

Two  glances  told  him  a  tale  with  ghastly  distinctness. 
It  was  that,  unless  they  performed  their  feat  of  getting 
up  the  slope  with  the  precision  of  machines,  they  were 
over  the  edge  and  whirling  in  mid-air.       ^ 

For  this  purpose  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
recover  the  breath  and  strength  which  his  previous 
efforts  had  cost  him.  So  he  still  waited,  and  looked 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy. 

The  crest  of  this  terrible  natural  fa9ade  passed 
246 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

among  the  neighbouring  inhabitants  as  being  seven 
hundred  feet  above  the  water  it  overhung.  It  had 
been  proved  by  actual  measurement  to  be  not  a  foot 
less  than  six  hundred  and  fifty. 

That  is  to  say,  it  is  nearly  three  times  the  height  of 
Flamborough,  half  as  high  again  as  the  South  Foreland, 
a  hundred  feet  higher  than  Beachy  Head — the  loftiest 
promontory  on  the  east  or  south  side  of  this  island — 
twice  the  height  of  St.  Aldhelm's,  thrice  as  high  as 
the  Lizard,  and  just  double  the  height  of  St.  Bee's. 
One  sea-bord  point  on  the  western  coast  is  known 
to  surpass  it  in  altitude,  but  only  by  a  few  feet.  This 
is  Great  Orme's  Head,  in  Caernarvonshire. 

And  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  cliff  exhibits 
an  intensifying  feature  which  some  of  those  are  without 
— sheer  perpendicularity  from  the  half-tide  level. 

Yet  this  remarkable  rampart  forms  no  headland : 
it  rather  walls  in  an  inlet — the  promontory  on  each 
side  being  much  lower.  Thus,  far  from  being  salient, 
its  horizontal  section  is  concave.  The  sea,  rolling 
direct  from  the  shores  of  North  America,  has  in  fact 
eaten  a  chasm  into  the  middle  of  a  hill,  and  the  giant, 
embayed  and  unobtrusive,  stands  in  the  rear  of  pigmy 
supporters.  Not  least  singularly,  neither  hill,  chasm, 
nor  precipice  has  a  name.  On  this  account  I  will  call 
the  precipice  the  CHff  without  a  Name.* 

What  gave  an  added  terror  to  its  l|^ight  was  its 
blackness.  And  upon  this  dark  face  the  beating  of 
ten  thousand  west  winds  had  formed  a  kind  of  bloom, 
which  had  a  visual  effect  not  unlike  that  of  a  Hambro' 
grape.  Moreover  it  seemed  to  float  off  into  the  atmo- 
sphere, and  inspire  terror  through  the  lungs. 

'  This  piece  of  quartz,  supporting  my  feet,  is  on  the 
very  nose  of  the  cHfT,'  said  Knight,  breaking  the  silence 
after  his  rigid  stoical  meditation.     *  Now  what  you  are 

*  See  Preface. 

247 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

to  do  is  this.     Clamber  up  my  body  till  your  feet  are 
on  my  shoulders  :  when  you  are  there  you  will,  I  think, 
be  able  to  climb  on  to  level  ground.' 
'  What  will  you  do  ? ' 

*  Wait  whilst  you  run  for  assistance.' 

*  I  ought  to  have  done  that  in  the  first  place,  ought 
I  not  ? ' 

'  I  was  in  the  act  of  slipping,  and  should  have 
reached  no  stand-point  without  your  weight,  in  all 
probability.  But  don't  let  us  talk.  Be  brave,  Elfride, 
and  climb.' 

She  prepared  to  ascend,  saying,  '  This  is  the  moment 
I  anticipated  when  on  the  tower.  I  thought  it  would 
come ! ' 

*  This  is  not  a  time  for  superstition,'  said  Knight. 
*  Dismiss  all  that.' 

*  I  will,'  she  said  humbly. 

'  Now  put  your  foot  into  my  hand :  next  the  other. 
That's  good — well  done.     Hold  to  my  shoulder.' 

She  placed  her  feet  upon  the  stirrup  he  made  of  his 
hand,  and  was  high  enough  to  get  a  view  of  the  natural 
surface  of  the  hill  over  the  bank. 

'  Can  you  now  climb  on  to  level  ground  ?  ' 

'  I  am  afraid  not.     I  will  try.' 

*  What  can  you  see  ?  ' 

*  The  sloping  common.' 
'  What  upon  it  ?  ' 

*  Purple  heather  and  some  grass.' 

'  Nothing  more — no  man  or  human  being  of  any 
kind?' 

'  Nobody.' 

*  Now  try  to  get  higher  in  this  way.  You  see  that 
tuft  of  sea-pink  above  you.  Get  that  well  into  your 
hand,  but  don't  trust  to  it  entirely.  Then  step  upon 
my  shoulder,  and  I  think  you  will  reach  the  top.' 

With  trembling  limbs  she  did  exactly  as  he  told  her. 
The  preternatural  quiet  and  solemnity  of  his  manner 
248 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

overspread  upon  herself,  and  gave  her  a  courage  not 
her  own.  She  made  a  spring  from  the  top  of  his 
shoulder,  and  was  up. 

Then  she  turned  to  look  at  him. 

By  an  ill  fate,  the  force  downwards  of  her  bound, 
added  to  his  own  weight,  had  been  too  much  for  the 
block  of  quartz  upon  which  his  feet  depended.  It  was, 
indeed,  originally  an  igneous  protrusion  into  the  enor- 
mous masses  of  black  strata,  which  had  since  been  worn 
away  from  the  sides  of  the  alien  fragment  by  cen- 
turies of  frost  and  rain,  and  now  left  it  without  much 
support. 

It  moved.  Knight  seized  a  tuft  of  sea-pink  with 
each  hand. 

The  quartz  rock  which  had  been  his  salvation  was 
worse  than  useless  now.  It  rolled  over,  out  of  sight, 
and  away  into  the  same  nether  sky  that  had  engulfed 
the  telescope. 

One  of  the  tufts  by  which  he  held  came  out  at  the 
root,  and  Knight  began  to  follow  the  quartz.  It  was 
a  terrible  moment.  Elfride  uttered  a  low  wild  wail 
of  agony,  bowed  her  head,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

Between  the  turf-covered  slope  and  the  gigantic 
perpendicular  rock  intervened  a  weather-worn  series  of 
jagged  edges,  forming  a  face  yet  steeper  than  the  former 
slope.  As  he  slowly  shd  inch  by  inch  upon  these, 
Knight  made  a  last  desperate  dash  at  the  lowest  tuft  of 
vegetation — the  last  outlying  knot  of  starved  herbage 
ere  the  rock  appeared  in  all  its  bareness.  It  arrested 
his  further  descent.  Knight  was  now  literally  sus- 
pended by  his  arms ;  but  the  incline  of  the  brow  being 
what  engineers  would  call  about  a  quarter  in  one,  it 
was  sufficient  to  relieve  his  arms  of  a  portion  of  his 
weight,  but  was  very  far  from  offering  an  adequately  flat 
face  to  support  him. 

In  spite  of  this  dreadful  tension  of  body  and  mind, 

R  249 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

Knight  found  time  for  a  moment  of  thankfulness. 
Elfride  was  safe. 

She  lay  on  her  side  above  him — her  fingers  clasped. 
Seeing  him  again  steady,  she  jumped  upon  her  feet. 

'  Now,  if  I  can  only  save  you  by  running  for  help  ! ' 
she  cried.  '  Oh,  I  would  have  died  instead !  Why  did 
you  try  so  hard  to  deliver  me  ?  '  And  she  turned  away 
wildly  to  run  for  assistance. 

'  Elfride,  how  long  will  it  take  you  to  run  to  Endel- 
stow  and  back  ?  ' 

'  Three-quarters  of  an  hour.' 

'  That  won't  do ;  my  hands  will  not  hold  out  ten 
minutes.     And  is  there  nobody  nearer  ?  ' 

*  No ;  unless  a  chance  passer  may  happen  to  be.' 

'  He  would  have  nothing  with  him  that  could  save 
me.  Is  there  a  pole  or  stick  of  any  kind  on  the 
common  ? ' 

She  gazed  around.  The  common  was  bare  of  every- 
thing but  heather  and  grass. 

A  minute — perhaps  more  time — was  passed  in  mute 
thought  by  both.  On  a  sudden  the  blank  and  helpless 
agony  left  her  face.  She  vanished  over  the  bank  from 
his  sight. 

Knight  felt  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  personalized 
loneliness. 


xxri 

'  A  woman's  way.* 

XiAGGARD  cliffs,  of  every  ugly  altitude,  are  as 
common  as  sea-fowl  along  the  line  of  coast  between 
Exmoor  and  Land's  End;  but  this  outflanked  and 
encompassed  specimen  was  the  ugliest  of  them  all. 
Their  summits  are  not  safe  places  for  scientific  experi- 
ment on  the  principles  of  air-currents,  as  Knight  had 
now  found,  to  his  dismay. 

He  still  clutched  the  face  of  the  escarpment — not 
with  the  frenzied  hold  of  despair,  but  with  a  dogged 
determination  to  make  the  most  of  his  every  jot  of 
endurance,  and  so  give  the  longest  possible  scope  to 
Elfride's  intentions,  whatever  they  might  be. 

He  reclined  hand  in  hand  with  the  world  in  its 
infancy.  Not  a  blade,  not  an  insect,  which  spoke  of 
the  present,  was  between  him  and  the  past.  The 
inveterate  antagonism  of  these  black  precipices  to  all 
strugglers  for  life  is  in  no  way  more  forcibly  suggested 
than  by  the  paucity  of  tufts  of  grass,  lichens,  or  confervae 
on  their  outermost  ledges. 

Knight  pondered  on  the  meaning  of  Elfride's  hasty 
disappearance,  but  could  not  avoid  an  instinctive  con- 
clusion that  there  existed  but  a  doubtful  hope  for  him. 
251 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES' 

As  far  as  he  could  judge,  his  sole  chance  of  deliverance 
lay  in  the  possibility  of  a  rope  or  pole  being  brought ; 
and  this  possibility  was  remote  indeed.  The  soil  upon 
these  high  downs  was  left  so  untended  that  they  were 
unenclosed  for  miles,  except  by  a  casual  bank  or  dry 
wall,  and  were  rarely  visited  but  for  the  purpose  of 
collecting  or  counting  the  flock  which  found  a  scanty 
means  of  subsistence  thereon. 

At  first,  when  death  appeared  improbable,  because 
it  had  never  visited  him  before,  Knight  could  think  of 
no  future,  nor  of  anything  connected  with  his  past. 
He  could  only  look  sternly  at  Nature's  treacherous 
attempt  to  put  an  end  to  him,  and  strive  to  thwart  her. 

From  the  fact  that  the  cliff  formed  the  inner  face 
of  the  segment  of  a  huge  cylinder,  having  the  sky  for  a 
top  and  the  sea  for  a  bottom,  which  enclosed  the  cove 
to  the  extent  of  more  than  a  semicircle,  he  could  see 
the  vertical  face  curving  round  on  each  side  of  him. 
He  looked  far  down  the  facade,  and  realized  more 
thoroughly  how  it  threatened  him.  Grimness  was  in 
every  feature,  and  to  its  very  bowels  the  inimical  shape 
was  desolation. 

By  one  of  those  familiar  conjunctions  of  things 
wherewith  the  inanimate  world  baits  the  mind  of  man 
when  he  pauses  in  moments  of  suspense,  opposite 
Knight's  eyes  was  an  imbedded  fossil,  standing  forth 
in  low  relief  from  the  rock.  It  was  a  creature  with 
eyes.  The  eyes,  dead  and  turned  to  stone,  were  even 
now  regarding  him.  It  was  one  of  the  early  crustaceans 
called  Trilobites.  Separated  by  millions  of  years  in 
their  lives.  Knight  and  this  underling  seemed  to  have 
met  in  their  death.  It  was  the  single  instance  within 
reach  of  his  vision  of  anything  that  had  ever  been  alive 
and  had  had  a  body  to  save,  as  he  himself  had  now. 

The  creature  represented  but  a  low  type  of  animal 
existence,  for  never  in  their  vernal  years  had  the  plains 
indicated  by  those  numberless  slaty  layers  been  tra- 
252 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

versed  by  an  intelligence  worthy  of  the  name.  Zoo- 
phytes, molrtista,  shell-fish,  were  the  highest  develop- 
ments of  tho^e  ancient  dates.  The  immense  lapses  of 
time  each  formation  represented  had  known  nothing  of 
the  dignity  of  man.  They  were  grand  times,  but  they 
were  mean  time^-  too,  and  mean  were  their  felics.  He 
was  to  be  with  the  small  in  his  death. 

Knight  was  a  geologist ;  and  such  is  the  supremacy 
of  habit  over  occasion,  as  a  pioneer  of  the  thoughts  of 
men,  that  at  this  dreadful  juncture  his  mind  found  time 
to  take  in,  by  a  momentary  sweep,  the  varied  scenes 
that  had  had  their  day  between  this  creature's  epoch 
and  his  own.  There  is  no  place  likei.^.cjeft  landscape 
for  bringing  home  such  iipaginings-  ^s  these. 

Time  closed  up  like  a  fan  before  him.  He  saw  him- 
self at  one  extremity  of  the  years,  face  to  face  with  the 
beginning  and  all  the  intermediate  centuries  simiftfe* 
neously.  Fierce  men,  clothed  in  the  hi^es^f  beasitej.an 
carrying,  for  defence  and  attack,  huge  clubs  and  pliinte 
spears,  rose  from  the  rock,  like  the  phantoms  before  the 
doomed  Macbeth.  They  lived  in  hollows,  woo^,  and 
mud  huts — perhaps  in  caves  of  the  neighbouring  rocks. 
Behind  them  stood  an  earlier  band.  No  man  was  there. 
Huge  elephantine  forms,  the  m.astodon,  the  hippopo- 
tamus, the  tapir,  antelopes  of  monstrous  size,  the  mega- 
therium, and  the  myledon — all,  for  the  moment,  in 
juxtaposition.  Further  back,  and  overlapped  by  these, 
were  perched  huge-billed  birds  and  swinish  creatures  as 
large  as  horses.  Still  more  shadowy  were  the  sinister 
crocodilian  outlines  —  alligators  and  other  uncouth 
shapes,  culminating  in  the  colossal  hzard,  the  iguanodon. 
Folded  behind  were  dragon  forms  and  clouds  of  flpng 
reptiles  :  still  underneath  were  fishy  beings  of  lower 
development ;  and  so  on,  till  the  hfetime  scenes  of  the 
fossil  confronting  him  were  a  present  and  modern  con- 
dition of  things.  These  images  passed  before  Knight's 
inner  eye  in  less  than  half  a  minute,  and  he  was  again 
253 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

considering  the  actual  present.  Was  he  to  die  ?  The 
mental  picture  of  Elfride  in  the  world,  without  himself 
to  cherish  her,  smote  his  heart  like  a  whip.  He  had 
hoped  for  deliverance,  but  what  could  a  girl  do  ?  He 
dared  not  move  an  inch.  Was  Death  really  stretching 
out  his  hand  ?  The  previous  sensation,  that  it  was  im- 
probable he  would  die,  was  fainter  now. 

However,  Knight  still  clung  to  the  cliff. 

To  those  musing  weather-beaten  West-country  folk 
who  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  days  and  nights  out 
\  /  of  doors.  Nature  seems  to  have  moods  in  other  than  a 
poetical  sense  :  predilections  for  certain  deeds  at  certain 
times,  without  any  apparent  law  to  govern  or  season 
to  account  for  them.  She  is  read  as  a  person  with  a 
curious  temper;  as  one  who  does  not  scatter  kind- 
nesses and  cruelties  alternately,  impartially,  and  in 
order,  but  heartless  severities  or  overwhelming  gene- 
rosities in  lawless  caprice.  Man's  case  is  always  that 
of  the  prodigal's  favourite  or  the  miser's  pensioner. 
In  her  unfriendly  moments  there  seems  a  feline  fun 
in  her  tricks,  begotten  by  a  foretaste  of  her  pleasure 
in  swallowing  the  victim. 

Such  a  way  of  thinking  had  been  absurd  to  Knight, 
but  he  began  to  adopt  it  now.  He  was  first  spitted 
on  to  a  rock.  New  tortures  followed.  The  rain  in- 
creased, and  persecuted  him  with  an  exceptional  persis- 
tency which  he  was  moved  to  believe  owed  its  cause  to 
the  fact  that  he  was  in  such  a  wretched  state  already. 
An  entirely  new  order  of  things  could  be  observed  in 
this  introduction  of  rain  upon  the  scene.  It  rained 
upwards  instead  of  down.  The  strong  ascending  air 
carried  the  rain-drops  with  it  in  its  race  up  the  escarp- 
ment, coming  to  him  with  such  velocity  that  they  stuck 
into  his  flesh  like  cold  needles.  Each  drop  was  Virtually 
a  shaft,  and  it  pierced  him  to  his  skin.  The  water- 
shafts  seemed  to  lift  him  on  their  pomts  :  no  downward 
rain  ever  had   such  a  torturing  effect.     In  a  brief  space 

254 


V'- 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

he  was  drenched,  except  in  two  places.  These  were  on 
the  top  of  his  shoulders  and  on  the  crown  of  his  hat. 

The  wind,  though  not  intense  in  other  situations, 
was  strong  here.  It  tugged  at  his  coat  and  lifted  it. 
We  are  mostly  accustomed  to  look  upon  all  opposition 
which  is  not  animate,  as  that  of  the  stolid,  inexorable 
hand  of  indifference,  which  wears  out  the  patience  more 
than  the  strength.  Here,  at  any  rate,  hostility  did  not 
assume  that  slow  and  sickening  form.  It  was  a  cosmic 
agency,  active,  lashing,  eager  for  conquest :  determina- 
tion ;  not  an  insensate  standing  in  the  way.  «.> 

Knight  had  over-estimated  the  strength  of  his  hands. 
They  were  getting  weak  already.  '  She  will  never  come 
again;  she  has  been  gone  ten  minutes,'  he  said  to 
himself. 

This  mistake  arose  from  the  unusual  compression 
of  his  experiences  just  now :  she  had  really  been  gone 
but  three. 

*As  many  more  minutes  will  be  my  end,'  he 
thought. 

Next  came  another  instance  of  the  incapacity  of  the 
mind  to  make  comparisons  at  such  times. 

'  This  is  a  summer  afternoon,'  he  said,  '  and  there 
can  never  have  been  such  a  heavy  and  cold  rain  on 
a  summer  day  in  my  Hfe  before.' 

He  was  again  mistaken.  The  rain  was  quite  ordi- 
nary in  quantity ;  the  air  in  temperature.  It  was,  as 
is  usual,  the  menacing  attitude  in  which  they  approached 
him  that  magnified  their  powers. 

He  again  looked  straight  downwards,  the  wind  and 
the  water-dashes  lifting  his  moustache,  scudding  up  his 
cheeks,  under  his  eyelids,  and  into  his  eyes.  This  is 
what  he  saw  down  there:  the  surface  of  the  sea — 
visually  just  past  his  toes,  and  under  his  feet ;  actually 
one-eighth  of  a  mile,  or  more  than  two  hundred  yards, 
below  them.  We  colour  according  to  our  moods  the 
objects  we  survey.  The  sea  would  have  been  a  deep 
255 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

neutral  blue,  had  happier  auspices  attended  the  gazer : 
it  was  now  no  otherwise  than  distinctly  black  to  his 
vision.  That  narrow  white  border  was  foam,  he  knew 
well;  but  its  boisterous  tosses  were  so  distant  as  to 
appear  a  pulsation  only,  and  its  plashing  was  barely 
audible.  A  white  border  to  a  black  sea — his  funeral 
pall  and  its  edging. 

The  world  was  to  some  extent  turned  upside  down  for 
him.  Rain  descended  from  below.  Beneath  his  feet  was 
aerial  space  and  the  unknown  ;  above  him  was  the  firm, 
familiar  ground,  and  upon  it  all  that  he  loved  best. 

Pitiless  nature  had  then  two  voices,  and  two  only. 
The  nearer  was  the  voice  of  the  wind  in  his  ears  rising 
and  falling  as  it  mauled  and  thrust  him  hard  or  softly. 
The  second  and  distant  one  was  the  moan  of  that  un- 
plummetted  ocean  below  and  afar— rubbing  its  restless 
flank  against  the  CUff  without  a  Name. 

Knight  perseveringly  held  fast.  Had  he  any  faith 
in  Elfride  ?  Perhaps.  Love  is  faith,  and  faith,  like  a 
gathered  flower,  will  rootlessly  live  on. 

Nobody  would  have  expected  the  sun  to  shine  on 
such  an  evening  as  this.  Yet  it  appeared,  low  down 
upon  the  sea.  Not  with  its  natural  golden  fringe, 
sweeping  the  furthest  ends  of  the  landscape,  not  with 
the  strange  glare  of  whiteness  which  it  sometimes  puts 
on  as  an  alternative  to  colour,  but  as  a  splotch  of  ver- 
milion red  upon  a  leaden  ground — a  red  face  looking 
on  with  a  drunken  leer. 

Most  men  who  have  brains  know  it,  and  few  are  so 
foolish  as  to  disguise  this  fact  from  themselves  or  others, 
even  though  an  ostentatious  display  may  be  called  self- 
conceit.  Knight,  without  showing  it  much,  knew  that 
his  intellect  was  above  the  average.  And  he  thought — 
he  could  not  help  thinking — that  his  death  would  be  a 
deliberate  loss  to  earth  of  good  material ;  that  such  an 
experiment  in  killing  might  have  been  practised  upon 
some  less  developed  life. 

256 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

A  fancy  some  people  hcJd,  when  in  a  bitter  mood, 
is  that  inexorable  circumstance  only  tries  to  prevent 
what  intelligence  attempts.  Renounce  a  desire  for  a 
long-contested  position,  and  go  on  another  tack,  and 
after  a  while  the  prize  is  thrown  at  you,  seemingly  in 
disappointment  that  no  more  tantalizing  is  possible. 

Knight  gave  up  thoughts  of  life  utterly  and  entirely, 
and  turned  to  contemplate  the  Dark  Valley  and  the  un- 
known future  beyond.  Into  the  shadowy  depths  of  these 
speculations  we  will  not  follow  him.  Let  it  suffice  to 
state  what  ensued. 

At  that  moment  of  taking  no  more  thought  for  this 
life,  something  disturbed  the  outline  of  the  bank  above 
him.     A  spot  appeared.     It  was  the  head  of  Elfride. 

Knight  immediately  prepared  to  welcome  life  again. 

The  expression  of  a  face  consigned  to  utter  loneli- 
ness, when  a  friend  first  looks  in  upon  it,  is  moving 
in  the  extreme.  In  rowing  seaward  to  a  light-ship  or 
sea-girt  lighthouse,  where,  without  any  immediate  terror 
of  death,  the  inmates  experience  the  gloom  of  mono- 
tonous seclusion,  the  grateful  eloquence  of  their  counte- 
nances at  the  greeting,^  expressive  of  thankfulness  for 
the  visit,  is  enough  to  stir  the  emotions  of  the  most 
careless  observer. 

Knight's  upward  look  at  Elfride  was  of  a  nature  with, 
but  far  transcending,  such  an  instance  as  this.  The 
lines  of  his  face  had  deepened  to  furrows,  and  every 
one  of  them  thanked  her  visibly.  His  lips  moved  to 
the  word  '  Elfride,'  though  the  emotion  evolved  no 
sound.  His  eyes  passed  all  description  in  their  com- 
bination of  the  whole  diapason  of  eloquence,  from 
lover's  deep  love  to  fellow-man's  gratitude  for  a  token 
of  remembrance  from  one  of  his  kind. 

Elfride  had  come  back.  What  she  had  come  to  do 
he  did  not  know.  She  could  only  look  on  at  his  death, 
perhaps.  Still,  she  had  co^e  back,  and  not  deserted 
him  utterly,  and  it  was  much. 

257  R 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

It  was  a  novelty  in  the  extreme  to  see  Henry  Knight, 
to  whom  Elfride  was  but  a  child,  who  had  swayed  her 
as  a  tree  sways  a  bird's  nest,  who  mastered  her  and 
made  her  weep  most  bitterly  at  her  own  insignificance, 
thus  thankful  for  a  sight  of  her  face.  She  looked  down 
upon  him,  her  face  glistening  with  rain  and  tears.  He 
smiled  faintly. 

*  How  calm  he  is  ! '  she  thought.  *  How  great  and 
noble  he  is  to  be  so  calm  ! '  She  would  have  died  ten 
times  for  him  then. 

The  gliding  form  of  the  steamboat  caught  her  eye : 
she  heeded  it  no  longer. 

'  How  much  longer  can  you  wait  ? '  came  from  her 
pale  lips  and  along  the  wind  to  his  position. 

*  Four  minutes,'  said  Knight  in  a  weaker  voice  than 
her  own. 

*  But  with  a  good  hope  of  being  saved  ?  ' 
'  Seven  or  eight.' 

He  now  noticed  that  in  her  arms  she  bore  a  bundle 
of  white  linen,  and  that  her  form  was  singularly  attenu- 
ated. So  preternaturally  thin  and  flexible  was  Elfride 
at  this  moment,  that  she  appeared  to  bend  under  the 
light  blows  of  the  rain-shafts,  as  they  struck  into  her 
sides  and  bosom,  and  splintered  into  spray  on  her 
face.  There  is  nothing  like  a  thorough  drenching  for 
reducing  the  protuberances  of  clothes,  but  Elfride's 
seemed  to  cling  to  her  like  a  glove. 

Without  heeding  the  attack  of  the  clouds  further 
than  by  raising  her  hand  and  wiping  away  the  spirts 
of  rain  when  they  went  more  particularly  into  her  eyes, 
she  sat  down  and  hurriedly  began  rending  the  linen 
into  strips.  These  she  knotted  end  to  end,  and  after- 
wards twisted  them  like  the  strands  of  a  cord.  In  a 
short  space  of  time  she  had  formed  a  perfect  rope  by 
this  means,  six  or  seven  yards  long. 

*  Can  you  wait  while  I  bind  it  ? '  she  said,  anxiously 
extending  her  gaze  down  to  him. 

258 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

<Yes,  if  not  very  long.  Hope  has  given  me  a 
wonderful  instalment  of  strength.' 

Elfride  dropped  her  eyes  again,  tore  the  remaining 
material  into  narrow  tape-like  hgaments,  knotted  each 
to  each  as  before,  but  on  a  smaller  scale,  and  wound 
the  lengthy  string  she  had  thus  formed  round  and 
round  the  linen  rope,  which,  without  this  binding,  had 
a  tendency  to  spread  abroad. 

*  Now,'  said  Knight,  who,  watching  the  proceedings 
intently,  had  by  this  time  not  only  grasped  her  scheme, 
but  reasoned  further  on,  '  I  can  hold  three  minutes 
longer  yet.  And  do  you  use  the  time  in  testing  the 
strength  of  the  knots,  one  by  one.' 

She  at  once  obeyed,  tested  each  singly  by  putting 
her  foot  on  the  rope  between  each  knot,  and  pulling 
with  her  hands.     One  of  the  knots  slipped. 

'  Oh,  think !  It  would  have  broken  but  for  your 
forethought,'  Elfride  exclaimed  apprehensively. 

She  retied  the  two  ends.  The  rope  was  now  firm  in 
every  part. 

'  When  you  have  let  it  down,'  said  Knight,  already 
resuming  his  position  of  ruling  power,  '  go  back  from 
the  edge  of  the  slope,  and  over  the  bank  as  far  as  the 
rope  will  allow  you.  Then  lean  down,  and  hold  the 
end  with  both  hands.' 

He  had  first  thought  of  a  safer  plan  for  his  own 
deliverance,  but  it  involved  the  disadvantage  of  possibly 
endangering  her  life. 

'  I  have  tied  it  round  my  waist,'  she  cried,  '  and  I 
will  lean  directly  upon  the  bank,  holding  with  my 
hands  as  well.' 

It  was  the  arrangement  he  had  thought  of,  but 
would  not  suggest. 

'  I  will  raise  and  drop  it  three  times  when  I  am 
behind  the  bank,'  she  continued,  '  to  signify  that  I  am 
ready.  Take  care,  oh,  take  the  greatest  care,  I  beg 
you ! ' 

259 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

She  dropped  the  rope  over  him,  to  learn  how  much 
of  its  length  it  would  be  necessary  to  expend  on  that 
side  of  the  bank,  went  back,  and  disappeared  as  she 
had  done  before. 

The  rope  was  trailing  by  Knight's  shoulders.  In  a 
few  moments  it  twitched  three  times. 

He  waited  yet  a  second  or  two,  then  laid  hold. 

The  incline  of  this  upper  portion  of  the  precipice, 
to  the  length  only  of  a  few  feet,  useless  to  a  climber 
empty-handed,  was  invaluable  now.  Not  more  than 
half  his  weight  depended  entirely  on  the  linen  rope. 
Half  a  dozen  extensions  of  the  arms,  alternating  with 
half  a  dozen  seizures  of  the  rope  with  his  feet,  brought 
him  up  to  the  level  of  the  soil. 

He  was  saved,  and  by  Elfride. 

He  extended  his  cramped  limbs  like  an  awakened 
sleeper,  and  sprang  over  the  bank. 

At  sight  of  him  she  leapt  to  her  feet  with  almost 
a  shriek  of  joy.  Knight's  eyes  met  hers,  and  with 
supreme  eloquence  the  glance  of  each  told  a  long- 
concealed  tale  of  emotion  in  that  short  half-moment. 
Moved  by  an  impulse  neither  could  resist,  they  ran 
together  and  into  each  other's  arms. 

At  the  moment  of  embracing,  Elfride's  eyes  invol- 
untarily flashed  towards  the  Puffin  steamboat.  It  had 
doubled  the  point,  and  was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

An  overwhelming  rush  of  exultation  at  having  de- 
livered the  man  she  revered  from  one  of  the  most 
terrible  forms  of  death,  shook  the  gentle  girl  to  the 
centre  of  her  soul.  It  merged  in  a  defiance  of  duty  to 
Stephen,  and  a  total  recklessness  as  to  plighted  faith. 
Every  nerve  of  her  will  was  now  in  entire  subjection  to 
her  feeling — volition  as  a  guiding  power  had  forsaken 
her.  To  remain  passive,  as  she  remained  now,  en- 
circled by  his  arms,  was  a  sufficiently  complete  result — 
a  glorious  crown  to  all  the  years  of  her  life.  Perhaps 
he  was  only  grateful,  and  did  not  love  her.  No  matter  : 
260 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

it  was  infinitely  more  to  be  even  the  slave  of  the 
greater  than  the  queen  of  the  less.  Some  such  sensa- 
tion as  this,  though  it  was  not  recognized  as  a  finished 
thought,  raced  along  the  impressionable  soul  of  Elfride. 

Regarding  their  attitude,  it  was  impossible  for  two 
persons  to  go  nearer  to  a  kiss  than  went  Knight  and 
Elfride  during  those  minutes  of  impulsive  embrace  in 
the  pelting  rain.  Yet  they  did  not  kiss.  Knight's 
peculiarity  of  nature  was  such  that  it  would  not  allow 
him  to  take  advantage  of  the  unguarded  and  passionate 
avowal  she  had  tacitly  made. 

Elfride  recovered  herself,  and  gently  struggled  to 
be  free. 

He  reluctantly  relinquished  her,  and  then  surveyed 
her  from  crown  to  toe.  She  seemed  as  small  as  an 
infant.  He  perceived  whence  she  had  obtained  the 
rope. 

'  Elfride,  my  Elfride ! '  he  exclaimed  in  gratified 
amazement.     ' 

*  I  must  leave  you  now,'  she  said,  her  face  doubling 
its  red,  with  an  expression  between  gladness  and  shame 
'  You  follow  me,  but  at  some  distance.' 

*The  rain  and  wind  pierce  you  through;  the  chill 
will  kill  you.  God  bless  you  for  such  devotion !  Take 
my  coat  and  put  it  on.' 

*  No ;  I  shall  get  warm  running.' 

Elfride  had  absolutely  nothing  between  her  and  the 
weather  but  her  exterior  robe  or  *  costume.'  The  door 
had  been  made  upon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it  had  found 
its  way  out.  Behind  the  bank,  whilst  Knight  reclined 
upon  the  dizzy  slope  waiting  for  death,  she  had  taken 
off  her  whole  clothing,  and  replaced  only  her  outer 
bodice  and  skirt.  Every  thread  of  the  remainder  lay 
upon  the  ground  in  the  form  of  a  woollen  and  cotton 
rope. 

*  I  am  used  to  being  wet  through,'  she  added.  '  I 
have  been  drenched  on  Pansy  dozens  of  times.     Good- 

261 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

bye  till  we  meet,  clothed  and  in  our  right  minds,  by  the 
fireside  at  home  ! ' 

She  then  ran  off  from  him  through  the  pelting  rain 
like  a  hare ;  or  more  like  a  pheasant  when,  scampering 
away  with  a  lowered  tail,  it  has  a  mind  to  fly,  but  does 
not.     Elfride  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Knight  felt  uncomfortably  ^  wet  and  chilled,  but 
glowing  with  fervour  nevertheless.  He  fully  appreci- 
ated Elfride's  girlish  delicacy  in  refusing  his  escort  in 
the  meagre  habiliments  she  wore,  yet  felt  that  necessary 
abstraction  of  herself  for  a  short  half-hour  as  a  most 
grievous  loss  to  him. 

He  gathered  up  her  knotted  and  twisted  plumage  of 
linen,  lace,  and  embroidery  work,  and  laid  it  across  his 
arm.  He  noticed  on  the  ground  an  envelope,  limp 
and  wet.  In  endeavouring  to  restore  this  to  its  proper 
shape,  he  loosened  from  the  envelope  a  piece  of  paper 
it  had  contained,  which  was  seized  by  the  wind  in 
falling  from  Knight's  hand.  It  was  blown  to  the  right, 
blown  to  the  left — it  floated  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and 
over  the  sea,  where  it  was  hurled  aloft.  It  twirled  in 
the  air,  and  then  flew  back  over  his  head. 

Knight  followed  the  paper,  and  secured  it.  Having 
done  so,  he  looked  to  discover  if  it  had  been  worth 
securing. 

The  troublesome  sheet  was  a  banker's  receipt  for 
wo   hundred   pounds,    placed    to    the    credit   of  Miss 

ancourt,  which  the  impractical  girl  had  totally  for- 
btten  she  carried  with  her. 

Knight  folded  it  as  carefully  as  its  moist  condition 
would  allow,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  followed  Elfride. 


^^wc 
~ot 


XXIII 

'Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot?' 

J3Y  this  time  Stephen  Smith  had  stepped  out  upon 
the  quay  at  Castle  Boterel,  and  breathed  his  native  air. 

A  darker  skin,  a  more  pronounced  liioustache,  and 
an  incipient  beard,  were  the  chief  additions  and  changes 
noticeable  in  his  appearance. 

In  spite  of  the  falling  rain,  which  had  somewhat 
lessened,  he  took  a  small  vaHse  in  his  hand,  and,  leav- 
ing the  remainder  of  his  luggage  at  the  inn,  ascended 
the  hills  towards  East  Endelstow.  This  place  lay  in  a 
vale  of  its  own,  further  inland  than  the  west  village, 
and  though  so  near  it,  had  little  of  physical  feature  in 
com.mon  with  the  latter.  East  Endelstow  was  moi:^^||^ 
wooded  and  fertile :  it  boasted  of  Lord  Luxelliai^JBp 
mansion  and  park,  and  was  free  from  those  bleak  open 
uplands  which  lent  such  an  air  of  desolation  to  the 
vicinage  of  the  coast — always  excepting  the  small  valley 
in  which  stood  the  vicarage  and  Mrs.  Swancourt's  old 
house.  The  Crags. 

Stephen   had   arrived   nearly  at  the   summit  of  the 

ridge  when   the  rain  again  increased  its  volume,  and, 

looking   about    for  temporary  shelter,  he   ascended    a 

steep  path  which  penetrated  dense  hazel  bushes  in  the 

263 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

lower  part  of  its  course.  Further  up  it  emerged  upon  a 
ledge  immediately  over  the  turnpike-road,  and  sheltered 
by  an  overhanging  face  of  rubble  rock,  with  bushes 
above.  For  a  reason  of  his  own  he  made  this  spot  his 
refuge  from  the  storm,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  left, 
conned  the  landscape  as  a  book. 

He  was  overlooking  the  valley  containing  Elfride's 
residence. 

From  this  point  of  observation  the  prospect  exhibited 
the  peculiarity  of  being  either  brilliant  foreground  or  the 
subdued  tone  of  distance,  a  sudden  dip  in  the  surface  of 
the  country  lowering  out  of  sight  all  the  intermediate 
prospect.  In  apparent  contact  with  the  trees  and 
bushes  growing  close  beside  him  appeared  the  distant 
tract,  terminated  suddenly  by  the  brink  of  the  series  of 
cliffs  which  culminated  in  the  tall  giant  without  a  name 
— small  and  unimportant  as  here  beheld.  A  leaf  on  a 
bough  at  Stephen's  elbow  blotted  out  a  whole  hill  in  the 
contrasting  district  far  away;  a  green  bunch  of  nuts 
covered  a  complete  upland  there,  and  the  great  cliff 
itself  was  outvied  by  a  pigmy  crag  in  the  bank  hard  by 
him.  Stephen  had  looked  upon  these  things  hundreds 
of  times  before  to-day,  but  he  had  never  viewed  them 
with  such  tenderness  as  now. 

Stepping  forward  in  this  direction  yet  a  little  further, 
he  could  see  the  tower  of  West  Endelstow  Church,  be- 

th  which  he  was  to  meet  his  Elfride  that  night.  And 
same  time  he  noticed,  coming  over  the  hill  from 
a  white  speck  in  motion.  It  seemed  first  to 
gull  flying  low,  but  ultimately  proved  to  be  a 
iTRgure,  running  with  great  rapidity.  The  form 
flitted  on,  heedless  of  the  rain  which  had  caused 
Stephen's  halt  in  this  place,  dropped  down  the  heathery 
hill,  entered  the  vale,  and  was  out  of  sight. 

Whilst  he  meditated  upon  the  meaning  of  this  pheno- 
menon, he  was  surprised  to  see  swim  into  his  ken  from 
the  same  point  of  departure  another  moving  speck,  as 
264 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

different  from  the  first  as  well  could  be,  insomuch  that 
it  was  perceptible  only  by  its  blackness.  Slowly  and 
regularly  it  took  the  same  course,  and  there  was  not 
much  doubt  that  this  was  the  form  of  a  man.  He,  too, 
gradually  descended  from  the  upper  levels,  and  was  lost 
in  the  valley  below. 

The  rain  had  by  this  time  again  abated,  and  Stephen 
returned  to  the  road.  Looking  ahead,  he  saw  two  men 
and  a  cart.  They  were  soon  obscured  by  the  interven- 
tion of  a  high  hedge.  Just  before  they  emerged  again 
he  heard  voices  in  conversation. 

'  'A  must  soon  be  in  the  naibourhood,  too,  if  so  be 
he's  a-coming,'  said  a  tenor  tongue,  which  Stephen  in- 
stantly recognized  as  Martin  Cannister's. 

'  'A  must  'a  b'lieve,'  said  another  voice — that  ,of 
Stephen's  father. 

Stephen  stepped  forward,  and  came  before  them  faqe 
to  face.  His  father  and  Martin  were  walking,  dressed 
in  their  second  best  suits,  and  beside  them  rambled 
along  a  grizzel  horse  and  brightly  painted  spring-cart. 

<  All  right,  Mr.  Cannister ;  here's  the  lost  man  ! '  ex- 
claimed young  Smith,  entering  at  once  upon  the  old 
style  of  greeting.     *  Father,  here  I  am.' 

'  All  right,  my  sonny ;  and  glad  I  be  for't ! '  returned 
John  Smith,  overjoyed  to  see  the  young  man.  '  How 
be  ye  ?  Well,  come  along  home,  and  don't  let's  •  bide 
out  here  in  the  damp.  Such  weather  must  be  terrible 
bad  for  a  young  chap  just  come  from  a  fiery  nation  like 
Indy ;  hey,  naibour  Cannister  ?  '  •        ^ 

'Trew,  trew.  And  about  getting  home  his  traps? 
Boxes,  monstrous  bales,  and  noble  packages  of  foreign 
description,  I  make  no  doubt  ?  ' 

'  Hardly  all  that,'  said  Stephen  laughing. 

'We  brought  the  cart,   maning   to   go  right  on  to 

Castle  Boterel  afore  ye  landed,'  said  his  father.     '  "  Put 

in  the  horse,"  says  Martin.     "  Ay,"  says  I,  "  so  we  will ;  " 

and  did  it  straightway.    Now,  maybe,  Martin  had  better 

s  265 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

go  on  wi'  the  cart  for  the  things,  and  you  and  I  walk 
home-along.' 

'  And  I  shall  be  back  a'most  as  soon  as  you.  Peggy 
is  a  pretty  step  still,  though  time  d'  begin  to  tell  upon 
her  as  upon  the  rest  o'  us.' 

Stephen  told  Martin  where  to  find  his  baggage,  and 
then  continued  his  journey  homeward  in  the  company 
of  his  father. 

'  Owing  to  your  coming  a  day  sooner  than  we  first 
expected,'  said  John,  *  you'll  find  us  in  a  turk  of  a  mess, 
sir — "  sir,"  says  I  to  my  own  son  !  but  ye've  gone  up 
so,  Stephen.  We've  killed  the  pig  this  morning  for  ye, 
thinking  ye'd  be  hungry,  and  glad  of  a  morsel  of  fresh 
mate.  And  'a  won't  be  cut  up  till  to-night.  However, 
we  can  make  ye  a  good  supper  of  fry,  which  will  chaw 
up  well  wi'  a  dab  o'  mustard  and  a  few  nice  new  taters, 
and  a  drop  of  shilling  ale  to  wash  it  down.  Your 
mother  have  scrubbed  the  house  through  because  ye 
were  coming,  and  dusted  all  the  chimmer  furniture,  and 
bought  a  new  basin  and  jug  of  a  travelling  crockery- 
woman  that  came  to  our  door,  and  scoured  the  cannel- 
sticks,  and  claned  the  winders  !  Ay,  I  don't  know  what 
'a  ha'n't  a  done.     Never  were  such  a  steer,  'a  b'lieve.' , 

Conversation  of  this  kind  and  inquiries  of  Stephen 
for  his  mother's  wellbeing  occupied  them  for  the 
remainder  of  the  journey.  When  they  drew  near  the 
river,  and  the  cottage  behind  it,  they  could  hear  the 
master-mason's  clock  striking  off  the  bygone  hours  of 
the  day  at  intervals  of  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  during 
which  intervals  Stephen's  imagination  readily  pictured 
his  mother's  forefinger  wandering  round  the  dial  in 
company  with  the  minute-hand. 

<  The  clock  stopped  this  morning,  and  your  mother 
in  putting  en  right  seemingly,'  said  his  father  in  an 
explanatory  tone ;  and  they  went  up  the  garden  to 
the  door. 

When  they  had  entered,  and  Stephen  had  dutifully 
266 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

and  warmly  greeted  his  mother — who  appeared  in  a 
cotton  dress  of  a  dark-blue  ground,  covered  broadcast 
with  a  multitude  of  new  and  full  moons,  stars,  and 
planets,  with  an  occasional  dash  of  a  comet-like  aspect 
to  diversify  the  scene — the  crackle  of  cart-wheels  was 
heard  outside,  and  Martin  Cannister  stamped  in  at  the 
doorway,  in  the  form  of  a  pair  of  legs  beneath  a  great 
box,  his  body  being  nowhere  visible.  When  the  luggage 
had  been  all  taken  down,  and  Stephen  had  gone  upstairs 
to  change  his  clothes,  Mrs.  Smith's  mind  seemed  to 
recover  a  lost  thread. 

*  Really  our  clock  is  not  worth  a  penny,'  she  said, 
turning  to  it  and  attempting  to  start  the  pendulum. 

'  Stopped  again  ?  '  inquired  Martin  with  commisera- 
tion. 

'  Yes,  sure,'  replied  Mrs.  Smith ;  and  continued 
after  the  manner  of  certain  matrons,  to  whose  tongues 
the  harmony  of  a  subject  with  a  casual  mood  is  a 
greater  recommendation  than  its  pertinence  to  the 
occasion,  '  John  would  spend  pounds  a  year  upon  the 
jimcrack  old  thing,  if  he  might,  in  having  it  claned, 
when  at  the  same  time  you  may  doctor  it  yourself  as 
well.  "  The  clock's  stopped  again,  John,"  I  say  to  him. 
"  Better  have  en  claned,"  says  he.  There's  five  shillings. 
"  That  clock  grinds  again,"  I  say  to  en.  "  Better  have 
en  claned,"  'a  says  again.  "  That  clock  strikes  wrong, 
John,"  says  I.  "  Better  have  en  claned,"  he  goes  on. 
The  wheels  would  have  been  polished  to  skeletons  by 
this  time  if  I  had  listened  to  en,  and  I  assure  you  we 
could  have  bought  a  chainey-faced  beauty  wi'  the  good 
money  we've  flung  away  these  last  ten  years  upon  this 
old  green-faced  mortal.  And,  Martin,  you  must  be 
wet.  My  son  is  gone  up  to  change.  John  is  damper 
than  I  should  like  to  be,  but  'a  calls  it  nothing.  Some 
of  Mrs.  Swancourt's  servants  have  been  here— they  ran 
in  out  of  the  rain  when  going  for  a  walk— and  I  assure 
you  the  state  of  their  bonnets  was  frightful.' 
267 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

*  How's  the  folks  ?  We've  been  over  to  Castle 
Boterel,  and  what  wi'  running  and  stopping  out  of  the 
storms,  my  poor  head  is  beyond  everything !  fizz,  fizz, 
fizz ;  'tis  frying  o'  fish  from  morning  to  night,'  said  a 
cracked  voice  in  the  doorway  at  this  instant. 

*  Lord  so's,  who's  that  ? '  said  Mrs.  Smith,  in  a 
private  exclamation,  and  turning  round  saw  WiUiam 
Worm,  endeavouring  to  make  himself  look  passing 
civil  and  friendly  by  overspreading  his  face  with  a 
large  smile  that  seemed  to  have  no  connection  with 
the  humour  he  was  in.  Behind  him  stood  a  woman 
about  twice  his  size,  with  a  large  umbrella  over  her 
head.     This  was  Mrs.  Worm,  WiUiam's  wife. 

'  Come  in,  William,'  said  John  Smith.  •  We  don't 
kill  a  pig  every  day.  And  you,  likewise,  Mrs.  Worm. 
I  make  ye  welcome.  Since  ye  left  Parson  Swancourt, 
William,  I  don't  see  much  of  'ee.' 

'  No,  for  to  tell  the  truth,  since  I  took  to  the  turn- 
pike-gate line,  I've  been  out  but  little,  coming  to  church 
o'  Sundays  not  being  my  duty  now,  as  'twas  in  a  par- 
son's family,  you  see.  However,  our  boy  is  able  to 
mind  the  gate  now,  and  I  said,  says  I,  "  Barbara,  let's 
call  and  see  John  Smith." ' 
z'^*  I  am  sorry  to  hear  yer  pore  head  is  so  bad  still.' 

*  Ay,  I  assure  you  that  frying  o'  fish  is  going  on  for 
^hights  and  days.     And,  you  know,   sometimes   'tisn't 

only  fish,  but  rashers  o'  bacon  and  inions.  Ay,  I  can 
hear  the  fat  pop  and  fizz  as  nateral  as  fife;  can't  I, 
Barbara  ? ' 

Mrs.  Worm,  who  had  been  all  this  time  engaged  in 
closing  her  umbrella,  corroborated  this  statement,  and 
now,  coming  indoors,  showed  herself  to  be  a  wide-faced, 
comfortable-looking  woman ^  with  a  wart  upon  her  cheek, 
bearing  a  small  tuft  of  hair  in  its  centre. 

'  Have  ye  ever  tried  anything  to  cure  yer  noise, 
Maister  Worm  ?  '  inquired  Martin  Cannister. 

*  Oh  ay  j  bless  ye,  I've  tried  everything.     Ay,  Provi- 
268 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

dence  is  a  merciful  man,  and  I  have  hoped  He'd  have 
found  it  out  by  this  time,  Hving  so  many  years  in  a 
parson's  family,  too,  as  I  have,  but  'a  don't  seem  to 
relieve  me.  Ay,  I  be  a  poor  wambling  man,  and  life's 
a  mint  o'  trouble  ! ' 

'  True,  mournful  true,  William  Worm.  'Tis  so. 
The  world  wants  looking  to,  or  'tis  all  sixes  and 
sevens  wi'  us.' 

'  Take  your  things  off,  Mrs.  Worm,'  said  Mrs.  Smith. 
*  We  be  rather  in  a  muddle,  to  tell  the  truth,  for  my 
son  is  just  dropped  in  from  Indy  a  day  sooner  than 
we  expected,  and  the  pig-killer  is  coming  presently  to 
cut  up.' 

Mrs.  Barbara  Worm,  not  wishing  to  take  any  mean 
advantage  of  persons  in  a  muddle  by  observing  them, 
removed  her  bonnet  and  mantle  with  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  flowers  in  the  plot  outside  the  door. 

'  What  beautiful  tiger-lilies  ! '  said  Mrs.  Worm. 

*  Yes,  they  be  very  well,  but  such  a  trouble  to  me  on 
account  of  the  children  that  come  here.  They  will  go 
eating  the  berries  on  the  stem,  and  call  'em  currants. 
Taste  wi'  junivals  is  quite  fancy,  really.'  ) 

*  And  your  snapdragons  look  as  fierce  as  ever.'  L-^         \ 
'  Well,  really,'  answered  Mrs.  Smith,  entering  didacti-      ^ 

cally  into  the  subject,  *  they  are  more  like  Christians 
than  flowers.  But  they  make  up  well  enough  wi'  the 
rest,  and  don't  require  much  tending.  And  the  same 
can  be  said  o'  these  miller's  wheels.  'Tis  a  flower  I 
like  very  much,  though  so  simple.  John  says  he  never 
cares  about  the  flowers  o'  'em,  but  men  have  no  eye  for 
anything  neat.  He  says  his  favourite  flower  is  a  cauli- 
flower. And  I  assure  you  I  tremble  in  the  springtime, 
for  'tis  perfect  murder.' 

'  You  don't  say  so,  Mrs.  Smith ! ' 

'  John  digs  round  the  roots,  you  know.  In  goes  his 
blundering  spade,  through  roots,  bulbs,  everything  that 
hasn't  got  a  good  show  above  ground,  turning  'em  up 
269 


1 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

cut  all  to  slices.  Only  the  very  last  fall  I  went  to  move 
some  tulips,  when  I  found  every  bulb  upside  down, 
and  the  stems  crooked  round.  He  had  turned  'em 
over  in  the  spring,  and  the  cunning  creatures  had  soon 
found  that  heaven  was  not  where  it  used  to  be.' 

'  What's  that  long-favoured  flower  under  the  hedge  ? ' 
'  They  ?  O  Lord,  they  are  the  horrid  Jacob's 
ladders  !  Instead  of  praising  'em,  I  be  mad  wi'  'em 
for  being  so  ready  to  bide  where  they  are  not  wanted. 
They  be  very  well  in  their  way,  ,but  I  do  not  care  for 
things  that  neglect  won't  kill.  »  Do  what  I  will,  dig, 
drag,  scrap,  pull,  I  get  too  many  of  'em.  I  chop  the 
roots  :  up  they'll  come,  treble  strong.  Throw  'em  over 
hedge;  there  they'll  grow,  starJng  me  in  the  face  like 
a  hungry  dog  driven  away,  and>  creep  back  again  in  a 
week  or  two  the  same  as  before.  'Tis  Jacob's  ladder 
here,  Jacob's  ladder  there,  and  .plant  'em  where  nothing 
in  the  world  will  grow,  you  get  crowds  of  'em  in  a 
month  or  two.  John  made  a  .new  manure  mixen  last 
summer,  and  he  said,  "  Maria,  now  if  you've  got  any 
flowers  or  such  like,  that  you  don't  want,  you  may  plant 
'em  round  my  mixen  so  as  to  fiide  it  a  bit,  though  'tis 
not  likely  anything  of  much  value  will  grow  there."  I 
thought,  "  There's  them  Jacob's  ladders ;  I'll  put  them 
there,  since  they  can't  do  harm  in  such  a  place ; "  and 
I  planted  the  Jacob's  ladders  sure  enough*  They 
growed,  and  they  growed,  in  the  mixen  and  out  of  the 
mixen,  all  over  the  litter,  covering  it  quite  up.  When 
John  wanted  to  use  it  about  the  garden,  'a  said, 
"  Nation  seize  them  Jacob's  ladders  of  yours,  Maria ! 
They've  eat  the  goodness  out  of  every  morsel  of  my 
manure,  so  that  'tis  no  better  than  sand  itself !  "  Sure 
enough  the  hungry  mortals  had.  'Tis  my  belief  that  in 
the  secret  souls  o'  'em,  Jacob's  ladders  be  weeds,  and 
not  flowers  at  all,  if  the  truth  was  known.' 

Robert  Lickpan,  pig-killer  and  carrier,  arrived  at  this 
moment.       The   fatted    animal    hanging    in    the    back 
270 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

kitchen  was  cleft  down  the  middle  of  its  backbone, 
Mrs.  Smith  being  meanwhile  engaged  in  cooking 
supper. 

Between  the  cutting  and  chopping,  ale  was  handed 
round,  and  Worm  and  the  pig-killer  listened  to  John 
Smith's  description  of  the  meeting  with  Stephen,  with 
eyes  blankly  fixed  upon  the  table-cloth,  in  order  that 
nothing  in  the  external  world  should  interrupt  their 
efforts  to  conjure  up  the  scene  correctly. 

Stephen  came  downstairs  in  the  middle  of  the  story, 
and  after  the  little  interruption  occasioned  by  his 
entrance  and  welcome,  the  narrative  was  again  con- 
tinued, precisely  as  if  he  had  not  been  there  at  all,  and 
was  told  inclusively  to  him,  as  to  somebody  who  knew 
nothing  about  the  matter. 

* "  Ay,"  I  said,  as  I  catched  sight  o'  en  through  the 
brimbles,  "  that's  the  lad,  for  I  d'  know  en  by  his  grand- 
father's walk ; "  for  'a  stapped  out  like  poor  father  for 
all  the  world.  Still  there  was  a  touch  o'  the  frisky  that 
set  me  wondering.  'A  got  closer,  and  I  said,  "  That's 
the  lad,  for  I  d'  know  en  by  his  carrying  a  black  case 
like  a  travelling  man."  Still,  a  road  is  common  to  all 
the  world,  and  there  be  more  travelling  men  than  one. 
But  I  kept  my  eye  cocked,  and  I  said  to  Martin,  "  'Tis 
the  boy,  now,  for  I  d'  know  en  by  the  wold  twirl  o'  the 
stick  and  the  family  step."  Then  'a  come  closer,  and 
a'  said,  "  All  right."     I  could  swear  to  en  then.' 

Stephen's  personal  appearance  was  next  criticised, 

*  He  d'  look  a  deal  thinner  in  face,  surely,  than  when 
I  seed  en  at  the  parson's,  and  never  knowed  en,  if  ye'll 
believe  me,'  said  Martin. 

*  Ay,  there,'  said  another,  without  removing  his  eyes 
from  Stephen's  face,  *  I  should  ha'  knowed  en  anywhere. 
'Tis  his  father's  nose  to  a  t.' 

'  It  has  been  often  remarked,'  said  Stephen  modestly. 
'  And  he's  certainly  taller,'  said  Martin,  letting  his 
glance  run  over  Stephen's  form  from  bottom  to  top. 
271 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

*I  was  thinking  'a  was  exactly  the  same  height,' 
Worm  replied. 

'  Bless  thy  soul,  that's  because  he's  bigger  round 
likewise.'  And  the  united  eyes  all  moved  to  Stephen's 
waist. 

'  I  be  a  poor  wambling  man,  but  I  can  make  allow- 
ances,' said  William  Worm.  '  Ah,  sure,  and  how  he 
came  as  a  stranger  and  pilgrim  to  Parson  Swancourt's 
that  time,  not  a  soul  knowing  en  after  so  many  years  ! 
Ay,  life's  a  strange  picter,  Stephen  :  but  I  suppose  I 
must  say  Sir  to  ye  ?  '  ^ 

*  Oh,  it  is  not  necessary  at  present,'  Stephen  replied, 
though  mentally  resolving  to  avoid  the  vicinity  of  that 
familiar  friend  as  soon  as  he  had  made  pretensions  to 
the  hand  of  Elfride. 

'  Ah,  well,'  said  Worm  musingly,  *  some  would  have 
looked  for  no  less  than  a  Sir.  There's  a  sight  of  differ- 
ence in  people.' 

*And  in  pigs  likewise,'  observed  John  Smith,  look- 
ing at  the  halved  carcass  of  his  own. 

Robert  Lickpan,  the  pig-killer,  here  seemed  called 
upon  to  enter  the  lists  of  conversation. 

'  Yes,  they've  got  their  particular  naters  good-now,' 
he  remarked  initially.  '  Many's  the  rum-tempered  pig 
I've  knowed.' 

*  I  don't  doubt  it.  Master  Lickpan,'  answered  Martin, 
in  a  tone  expressing  that  his  convictions,  no  less  than 
good  manners,  demanded  the  reply. 

*Yes,'  continued  the  pig-killer,  as  one  accustomed 
to  be  heard.  *  One  that  I  knowed  was  deaf  and  dumb, 
and  we  couldn't  make  out  what  was  the  matter  wi'  the 
pig.  'A  would  eat  well  enough  when  'a  seed  the 
trough,  but  when  his  back  was  turned,  you  might 
a-rattled  the  bucket  all  day,  the  poor  soul  never  heard 
ye.  Ye  could  play  tricks  upon  en  behind  his  back, 
and  a'  wouldn't  find  it  out  no  quicker  than  poor  deaf 
Grammer  Gates.     But  a'  fatted  well,  and  I  never  seed 

272 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

a  pig  open  better  when  a'  was  killed,  and  'a  was  very 
tender  eating,  very ;  as  pretty  a  bit  of  mate  as  ever  you 
see ;  you  could  suck  that  mate  through  a  quill. 

*  And  another  I  knowed,'  resumed  the  killer,  after 
quietly  letting  a  pint  of  ale  run  down  his  throat  of  its 
own  accord,  and  setting  down  the  cup  with  mathe- 
matical exactness  upon  the  spot  from  which  he  had 
raised  it — *  another  went  out  of  his  mind.' 

*  How  very  mournful ! '  murmured  Mrs.  Worm. 

*  Ay,  poor  thing,  'a  did  !  As  clean  out  of  his  mind 
as  the  cleverest  Christian  could  go.  In  early  life  'a 
was  very  melancholy,  and  never  seemed  a  hopeful  pig 
by  no  means.  'Twas  Andrew  Stainer's  pig — that's 
whose  pig  'twas.' 

'  I  can  mind  the  pig  well  enough,'  attested  John 
Smith. 

*  And  a  pretty  little  porker  'a  was.  And  you  all 
know  Farmer  Buckle's  sort  ?  Every  jack  o'  em  suffer 
from  the  rheumatism  to  this  day,  owing  to  a  damp  sty 
they  lived  in  when  they  were  stripHngs,  as  'twere.' 

*  Well,  now  we'll  weigh,'  said  John.- 

*  If  so  be  he  were  not  so  fine,  we'd  weigh  en  whole : 
but  as  he  is,  we'll  take  a  side  at  a  time.  John,,  you 
can  mind  my  old  joke,  ey  ?  '     - 

'  I  do  so ;  though  'twas  a  good  few  years  ago  I  first 
heard  en.' 

'Yes,'  said  Lickpan,  '  that  there  old  familiar  joke 
have  been  in  our  family  for  generations,  I  may  say. 
My  father  used  that  joke  regular  at  pig-killings  for 
more  than  five  and  forty  years;— the  time  he  followed 
the  calling.  And  'a  told  me  that  'a  had  it  from  his 
father  when  he  was  quite  a  chiel,  who  made  use  o'  en 
just  the  same  at  every  killing  more  or  less ;  and  pig- 
killings  were  pig-killings  in  those  days.' 

'  Trewly  they  were.' 

'I've  never  heard  the  joke,'  said  Mrs.  Smith 
tentatively. 

273  s 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Nor  I,'  chimed  in  Mrs.  Worm,  who,  being  the 
only  other  lady  in  the  room,  felt  bound  by  the  laws  of 
courtesy  to  feel  like  Mrs.  Smith  in  everything-.- 

'  Surely,  surely  you  have,'  said  the  killer,  looking 
sceptically  at  the  benighted  females.  <  However,  'tisn-'t 
much — I  don't  wish  to  say  it  is.  It  commences  like 
this  :  "  Bob  will  tell  the  weight  of  your  pig,  'a  b'Heve," 
says  I.  The  congregation  of  neighbours  think  I  mane 
my  son  Bob,  naturally ;  but  the  secret  is  that  I  mane 
the  bob  o'  the  steelyard.     Ha,  ha,  ha ! ' 

'  Haw,  haw,  haw ! '  laughed  Martin  Cannister,  who 
had  heard  the  explanation  of  this  striking  story  for  the 
hundredth  time. 

*  Huh,  huh,  huh !  '  laughed  John  Smith,  who  had 
heard  it  for  the  thousandth.  " 

*  Hee,  hee,  hee !  '  laughed  William  Worm,  who  had 
never  heard  it  at  all,  but  was  afraid  to  say  so. 

'  Thy  grandfather,  Robert,  must  have  been  a  wide- 
awake chap  to  make  that  story,'  said  Martin  Cannister, 
subsiding  to  a  placid  aspect  of  delighted  criticism. 

'  He  had  a  head,  by  all  account.  And,  you  see,  as 
the  first-born  of  the  Lickpans  have  all  been  Roberts, 
they've  all  been  Bobs,  so  the  story  was  handed  down 
to  the  present  day.' 

*  Poor  Joseph,  your  second  boy,  will  never  be  able 
to  bring  it  out  in  company,  which  is  rather  unfortunate,' 
said  Mrs.  Worm  thoughtfully. 

*  'A  won't.  Yes,  grandfer  was  a  clever  chap,  as  ye 
say ;  but  I  knowed  a  cleverer.  'Twas  my  uncle  Levi. 
Uncle  Levi  made  a  snuff-box  that  should  be  a  puzzle 
to  his  friends  to  open.  He  used  to  hand  en  round  at 
wedding  parties,  christenings,  funerals,  and  in  other 
jolly  company,  and  let  'em  try  their  skill.  This  extra- 
ordinary snuff-box  had  a  spring  behind  that  would  push 
in  and  out — a  hinge  where  seemed  to  be  the  cover;  a 
slide  at  the  end,  a  screw  in  front,  and  knobs  and  queer 
notches  everywhere.     One  man  would   try  the  spring, 

274 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

another  would  try  the  screw,  another  would  try  the 
slide;  but  try  as  they  would,  the  box  wouldn't  open. 
And  they  couldn't  open  en,  and  they  didn't  open  en. 
Now  what  might  you  think  was  the  secret  of  that  box  ? ' 

All  put  on  an  expression  that  their  united  thoughts 
were  inadequate  to  the  occasion. 

'  Why  the  box  wouldn't  open  at  all.  'A  were  made 
not  to  open,  and  ye  might  have  tried  till  the  end  of 
Revelations,  'twould  have  been  as  naught,  for  the  box 
were  glued  all  round.' 

'  A  very  deep  man  to  have  made  such  a  box.' 

'  Yes.     'Twas  like  uncle  Levi  all  over.' 

'  'Twas.  I  can  mind  the  man  very  well.  Tallest 
man  ever  I  seed.' 

'  'A  was  so.  He  never  slept  upon  a  bedstead  after 
he  growed  up  a  hard  boy-chap — never  could  get  one 
long  enough.  When  'a  lived  in  that  little  small  house 
by  the  pond,  he  used  to  have  to  leave  open  his  chamber 
door  every  night  at  going  to  his  bed,  and  let  his  feet 
poke  out  upon  the  landing.' 

'  He's  dead  and  gone  now,  nevertheless,  poor  man, 
as  we  all  shall,'  observed  Worm,  to  fill  the  pause  which 
followed  the  conclusion  of  Robert  Lickpan's  speech. 

The  weighing  and  cutting  up  was  pursued  amid  an 
animated  discourse  on  Stephen's  travels;  and  at  the 
finish,  the  first-fruits  of  the  day's  slaughter,  fried  in 
onions,  were  then  turned  from  the  pan  into  a  dish  on 
the  table,  each  piece  steaming  and  hissing  till  it  reached 
their  very  mouths. 

It  must  be  owned  that  the  gentlemanly  son  of  the 
house  looked  rather  out  of  place  in  the  course  of  this 
operation.  Nor  was  his  mind  quite  philosophic  enough 
to  allow  him  to  be  comfortable  with  these  old-established 
persons,  his  father's  friends.  He  had  never  Hved  long 
at  home — scarcely  at  all  since  his  childhood.  The  pre- 
sence of  William  Worm  was  the  most  awkward  feature 
of  the  case,  for,  though  Worm  had  left  the  house  of  Mr. 
275 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Swancourt,  the  being  hand-in-glove  with  a  ci-devani 
servitor  reminded  Stephen  too  forcibly  of  the  vicar's 
classification  of  himself  before  he  went  from  England. 
Mrs.  Smith  was  conscious  of  the  defect  in  her  arrange- 
ments which  had  brought  about  the  undesired  conjunc- 
tion.    She  spoke  to  Stephen  privately. 

*  I  am  above  having  such  people  here,  Stephen ;  but 
what  could  I  do?  And  your  father  is  so  rough  in 
his  nature  that  he's  more  mixed  up  with  them  than 
need  be.' 

'  Never  mind,  mother,'  said  Stephen ;  '  I'll  put  up 
with  it  now.' 

'  When  we  leave  my  lord's  service,  and  get  further 
up  the  country — as  I  hope  we  shall  soon — it  will  be 
different.  We  shall  be  among  fresh  people,  and  in  a 
larger  house,  and  shall  keep  ourselves  up  a  bit,  I 
hope.' 

*  Is  Miss  Swancourt  at  home,  do  you  know  ?  '  Stephen 
inquired 

*  Yes,  your  father  saw  her  this  morning.' 

*  Do  you  often  see  her  ?  ' 

'  Scarcely  ever.  Mr.  Glim,  the  curate,  calls  occasion- 
ally, but  the  Swancourts  don't  come  into  the  village 
now  any  more  than  to  drive  through  it.  They  dine  at 
my  lord's  oftener  than  they  used.  Ah,  here's  a  note 
was  brought  this  morning  for  you  by  a  boy.' 

Stephen  eagerly  took  the  note  and  opened  it,  his 
mother  watching  him.  He  read  what  Elfride  had 
written  and  sent  before  she  started  for  the  cliff  that 
afternoon  : 

*  Yes ;  I  will  meet  you  in  the  church  at  nine  to- 
night—E.  S.' 

*  I  don't  know,  Stephen,'  his  mother  said  meaningly, 
*  whe'r  you  still  think  about  Miss  Elfride,  but  if  I  were 
you  I  wouldn't  concern  about  her.     They  say  that  none 

276 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  old  Mrs.  Swancourt's  money  will  come  to  her  step- 
daughter.' 

'  I  see  the  evening  has  turned  out  fine ;  I  am  going 
out  for  a  little  while  to  look  round  the  place,'  he  said, 
evading  the  direct  query.  '  Probably  by  the  time  I 
return  our  visitors  will  be  gone,  and  we'll  have  a  more 
confidential  talk/ 


XXIV 

•  Breeze,  bird,  and  flower  confess  the  hour.' 

i  HE  rain  had  ceased  since  the  sunset,  but  it  was  a 
cloudy  night ;  and  the  light  of  the  moon,  softened  and 
dispersed  by  its  misty  veil,  was  distributed  over  the 
land  in  pale  gray. 

A  dark  figure  stepped  from  the  doorway  of  John 
Smith's  river-side  cottage,  and  strode  rapidly  towards 
West  Endelstow  with  a  light  footstep.  Soon  ascending 
fiom  the  lower  levels  he  turned  a  corner,  followed  a 
cart-track,  and  saw  the  tower  of  the  church  he  was  in 
quest  of  distinctly  shaped  forth  against  the  sky.  In 
less  than  half  an  hour  from  the  time  of  starting  he 
swung  himself  over  the  churchyard  stile. 

The  wild  irregular  enclosure  was  as  much  as  ever 
an  integral  part  of  the  old  hill.  The  grass  was  still 
long,  the  graves  were  shaped  precisely  as  passing  years 
chose  to  alter  them  from  their  orthodox  form  as  laid 
down  by  Martin  Cannister,  and  by  Stephen's  own 
grandfather  before  him. 

A  sound  sped  into  the  air  from  the  direction  in 
which  Castle  Boterel  lay.  It  was  the  striking  of  the 
church  clock,  distinct  in  the  still  atmosphere  as  if 
it  had  come  from  the  tower  hard  by,  which,  wrapt 
%  278 


A  PAIR  OF  «LUE  EYES 

in  its  solitary  silfentne§s,  gave  out  no  such  sounds 
of  life.  ^. 

'  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine.' 
Stephen  carefully  counjied  the  strokes,  though  he  well 
knew  their  number  beforehand.  Nine  o'clock.  It  was 
the  hour  Elfride  had  herself  named  as  the  most  con- 
venient for  meeting  him. 

Stephen  stood  at  the-  door  of  the  porch  and  listened. 
He  could  have  heard  thfe  softest  breathing  of  any  person 
within  the  porch;  nobody  wa's  there.  He  went  inside 
the  doorway,  sat  down  upon  the  stone  bench,  and  waited 
with  a  beating  heart. 

The  faint  sounds  heard  only  accentuated  the  silence. 
The  rising  and  falling  of  the  sea,  far  away  along  the 
coast,  was  the  most  important.  A  minor  sound  was 
the  scurr  of  a  distant  night-hawk.  Among  the  minutest 
where  all  were  minute  were  the  light  settlement  of 
gossamer  fragments  floating  in  the  air,  a  toad  humbly 
labouring  along  through  the  grass  near  the  entrance, 
the  crackle  of  a  dead  leaf  which  a  worm  was  endea- 
vouring to  pull  into  the  earth,  a  waft  of  air,  getting 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  expiring  at  his  feet  under  the 
burden  of  a  winged  seed. 

Among  all  these  soft  sounds  came  not  the  only  soft 
sound  he  cared  to  hear — the  footfall  of  Elfride. 

For  a  whole  quarter  of  an  hour  Stephen  sat  thus 
intent,  without  moving  a  muscle.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  he  walked  to  the  west  front  of  the  church.  Turn- 
ing the  corner  of  the  tower,  a  white  form  stared  him  in 
the  face.  He  started  back,  and  recovered  himself. 
It  was  the  tomb  of  young  farmer  Jethway,  looking  still 
as  fresh  and  as  new  as  when  it  was  first  erected,  the 
white  stone  in  which  it  was  hewn  having  a  singular 
weirdness  amid  the  dark  blue  slabs  from  local  quarries, 
of  which  the  whole  remaining  gravestones  were  formed. 

He  thought  of  the  night  when  he  had  sat  thereon 
with  Elfride  as  his  companion,  and  well  remembered 
279 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

his  regret  that  she  had  received,  even  unwillingly, 
earlier  homage  than  his  own.  But  his  present  tangible 
anxiety  reduced  such  a  feeling  to  sentimental  nonsense 
in  comparison ;  and  he  strolled  on  over  the  graves  to 
the  border  of  the  churchyard,  whence  in  the  daytime 
could  be  clearly  seen  the  vicarage  and  the  present 
residence  of  the  Swancourts.  No  footstep  was  dis- 
cernible upon  the  path  up  the  hill,  but  a  light  was 
shining  from  a  window  in  the  last-named  house. 

Stephen  knew  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  the 
time  or  place,  and  no  difficulty  about  keeping  the 
engagement.  He  waited  yet  longer,  passing  from 
impatience  into  a  mood  which  failed  to  take  any 
account  of  the  lapse  of  time.  He  was  awakened  from 
his  reverie  by  Castle  Boterel  clock. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine, 

TEN. 

One  little  fall  of  the  hammer  in  addition  to  the 
number  it  had  been  sharp  pleasure  to  hear,  and  what 
a  difference  to  him  ! 

He  left  the  churchyard  on  the  side  opposite  to  his 
point  of  entrance,  and  went  down  the  hill.  Slowly  he 
drew  near  the  gate  of  her  house.  This  he  softly 
opened,  and  walked  up  the  gravel  drive  to  the  door. 
Here  he  paused  for  several  minutes. 

At  the  expiration  of  that  time  the  murmured  speech 
of  a  manly  voice  came  out  to  his  ears  through  an  open 
window  behind  the  corner  of  the  house.  This  was 
responded  to  by  a  clear  soft  laugh.  It  was  the  laugh 
of  Elfride. 

Stephen  was  conscious  of  a  gnawing  pain  at  his 
heart.  He  retreated  as  he  had  come.  There  are 
disappointments  which  wring  us,  and  there  are  those 
which  inflict  a  wound  whose  mark  we  bear  to  our  graves. 
Such  are  so  keen  that  no  future  gratification  of  the 
same  desire  can  ever  obliterate  them :  they  become 
registered  as  a  permanent  loss  of  happiness.  Such  a 
280 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

one  was  Stephen's  now :  the  crowning  aureola  of  the 
dream  had  been  the  meeting  here  by  stealth;  and  if 
Elfride  had  come  to  him  only  ten  minutes  after  he 
had  turned  away,  the  disappointment  would  have  been 
recognizable  still. 

When  the  young  man  reached  home  he  found  there 
a  letter  which  had  arrived  in  his  absence.  Believing 
it  to  contain  some  reason  for  her  non-appearance,  yet 
unable  to  imagine  one  that  could  justify  her,  he  hastily 
tore  open  the  envelope. 

The  paper  contained  not  a  word  from  Elfride.  It 
was  the  deposit-note  for  his  two  hundred  pounds. 
On  the  back  was  the  form  of  a  cheque,  and  this  she 
had  filled  up  with  the  same  sum,  payable  to  the 
bearer. 

Stephen  was  confounded.  He  attempted  to  divine 
her  motive.  Considering  how  limited  was  his  know- 
ledge of  her  later  actions,  he  guessed  rather  shrewdly 
that,  between  the  time  of  her  sending  the  note  in  the 
morning  and  the  evening's  silent  refusal  of  his  gift, 
something  had  occurred  which  had  caused  a  total 
change  in  her  attitude  towards  him. 

He  knew  not  what  to  do.  It  seemed  absurd  now 
to  go  to  her  father  next  morning,  as  he  had  purposed, 
and  ask  for  an  engagement  with  her,  a  possibility  im- 
pending all  the  while  that  Elfride  herself  would  not  be 
on  his  side.  Only  one  course  recommended  itself  as 
wise.  To  wait  and  see  what  the  days  would  bring 
forth ;  to  go  and  execute  his  commissions  in  Birming- 
ham ;  then  to  return,  learn  if  anything  had  happened, 
and  try  what  a  meeting  might  do ;  perhaps  her  surprise 
at  his  backwardness  would  bring  her  forward  to  show 
latent  warmth  as  decidedly  as  in  old  times. 

This  act  of  patience  was  in  keeping  only  with  the 

nature  of  a   man   precisely   of  Stephen's   constitution. 

Nine  men  out  of  ten  would  perhaps  have  rushed  off, 

got  into  her  presence,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  and  pro- 

T  281 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

voked  a  catastrophe  of  some   sort.     Possibly  for  the 
better,  probably  for  the  worse. 

He  started  for  Birmingham  the  next  morning.  A 
day's  delay  would  have  made  no  difference ;  but  he 
could  not  rest  until  he  had  begun  and  ended  the  pro- 
gramme proposed  to  himself.  Bodily  activity  will 
sometimes  take  the  sting  out  of  anxiety  as  completely 
as  assurance  itself. 


XXV 

•Mine  own  familiar  friend.* 

UURING  these  days  of  absence  Stephen  lived  under 
alternate  conditions.  Whenever  his  emotions  were 
active,  he  was  in  agony.  Whenever  he  was  not  in 
agony,  the  business  in  hand  had  driven  out  of  his 
mind  by  sheer  force  all  deep  reflection  on  the  subject 
of  Elfride  and  love. 

By  the  time  he  took  his  return  journey  at  the  week's 
end,  Stephen  had  very  nearly  worked  himself  up  to  an 
intention  to  call  and  see  her  face  to  face.  On  this 
occasion  also  he  adopted  his  favourite  route — by  the 
little  summer  steamer  from  Bristol  to  Castle  Boterel ; 
the  time  saved  by  speed  on  the  railway  being  wasted 
at  junctions,  and  in  following  a  devious  course. 

It  was  a  bright  silent  evening  at  the  beginning  of 
September  when  Smith  again  set  foot  in  the  little  town. 
He  felt  inclined  to  linger  awhile  upon  the  quay  before 
ascending  the  hills,  having  formed  a  romantic  inten- 
tion to  go  home  by  way  of  her  house,  yet  not  wishing 
to  wander  in  its  neighbourhood  till  the  evening  shades 
should  sufficiently  screen  him  from  observation. 

And  thus  waiting  for  night's  nearer  approach,  he 
watched  the  placid  scene,  over  which  the  pale  luminosity 
283 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  the  west  cast  a  sorrowful  monochrome,  that  became 
slowly  embrowned  by  the  dusk.  A  star  appeared,  and 
another,  and  another.  They  sparkled  amid  the  yards 
and  rigging  of  the  two  coal  brigs  lying  alongside,  as  if 
they  had  been  tiny  lamps  suspended  in  the  ropes.  The 
masts  rocked  sleepily  to  the  infinitesimal  flux  of  the  tide, 
which  clucked  and  gurgled  with  idle  regularity  in  nooks 
and  holes  of  the  harbour  wall. 

The  twilight  was  now  quite  pronounced  enough  for 
his  purpose ;  and  as,  rather  sad  at  heart,  he  was  about 
to  move  on,  a  little  boat  containing  two  persons  glided 
up  the  middle  of  the  harbour  with  the  lightness  of  a 
shadow.  The  boat  came  opposite  him,  passed  on,  and 
touched  the  landing-steps  at  the  further  end.  One  of 
its  occupants  was  a  man,  as  Stephen  had  known  by  the 
easy  stroke  of  the  oars.  When  the  pair  ascended  the 
steps,  and  came  into  greater  prominence,  he  was  enabled 
to  discern  that  the  second  personage  was  a  woman; 
also  that  she  wore  a  white  decoration — apparently  a 
feather — in  her  hat  or  bonnet,  which  spot  of  white  was 
the  only  distinctly  visible  portion  of  her  clothing- 
Stephen  remained  a  moment  in  their  rear,  and  they 
passed  on,  when  he  pursued  his  way  also,  and  soon 
forgot  the  circumstance.  Having  crossed  a  bridge, 
forsaken  the  high  road,  and  entered  the  footpath  which 
led  up  the  vale  to  West  Endelstow,  he  heard  a  little 
wicket  click  softly  together  some  yards  ahead.  By  the 
time  that  Stephen  had  reached  the  wicket  and  passed 
it,  he  heard  another  click  of  precisely  the  same  nature 
from  another  gate  yet  further  on.  Clearly  some  person 
or  persons  were  preceding  him  along  the  path,  their 
footsteps  being  rendered  noiseless  by  the  soft  carpet 
of  turf  Stephen  now  walked  a  little  quicker,  and  per- 
ceived two  forms.  One  of  them  bore  aloft  the  white 
feather  he  had  noticed  in  the  woman's  hat  on  the  quay : 
they  were  the  couple  he  had  seen  in  the  boat.  Stephen 
dropped  a  little  further  to  the  rear. 
284 


^^1^^ 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

From  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  along  which  the  path 
had  hitherto  lain,  beside  the  margin  of  the  trickling 
streamlet,  another  path  now  diverged,  and  ascended 
the  slope  of  the  left-hand  hill.  This  footway  led  only 
to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Swancourt  and  a  cottage  or 
two  in  its  vicinity.  No  grass  covered  this  diverging 
path  in  portions  of  its  length,  and  Stephen  was  re- 
minded that  the  pair  in  front  of  him  had  taken  this 
route  by  the  occasional  rattle  of  loose  stones  under 
their  feet.  Stephen  climbed  in  the  same  direction, 
but  for  some  undefined  reason  he  trod  more  softly  than 
did  those  preceding  him.  His  mind  was  unconsciously 
in  exercise  upon  whom  the  woman  might  be — whether 
a  visitor  to  The  Crags,  a  servant,  or  Elfride.  He  put 
it  to  himself  yet  more  forcibly;  could  the  lady  be 
Elfride  ?  A  possible  reason  for  her  unaccountable 
failure  to  keep  the  appointment  with  him  returned 
with  painful  force. 

They  entered  the  grounds  of  the  house  by  the  side 
wicket,  whence  the  path,  now  wide  and  well  trimmed, 
wound  fantastically  through  the  shrubbery  to  an  octa- 
gonal pavilion  called  the  Belvedere,  by  reason  of  the 
comprehensive  view  over  the  adjacent  district  that  its 
green  seats  afforded.  The  path  passed  this  erection 
and  went  on  to  the  house  as  well  as  to  the  gardener's 
cottage  on  the  other  side,  straggling  thence  to  East 
Endelstow;  so  that  Stephen  felt  no  hesitation  in 
entering  a  promenade  which  could  scarcely  be  called 
private. 

He  fancied  that  he  heard  the  gate  open  and  swing 
together  again  behind  him.     Turning,  he  saw  nobody. 

The  people  of  the  boat  came  to  the  summer-house. 
One  of  them  spoke. 

*  I  am  afraid  we  shall  get  a  scolding  for  being  so 
late.' 

Stephen  instantly  recognised  the  familiar  voice, 
richer  and  fuller  now  than  it  used  to  be.  '  Elfride  ! ' 
285 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

he  whispered  to  himself,  and  held  fast  by  a  sapling,  to 
steady  himself  under  the  agitation  her  presence  caused 
him.  His  heart  swerved  from  its  beat ;  he  shunned 
receiving  the  meaning  he  sought. 

'  A  breeze  is  rising  again  ;  how  the  ash  tree  rustles  ! ' 
said  Elfride.  '  Don't  you  hear  it  ?  I  wonder  what  the 
time  is.' 

Stephen  relinquished  the  sapUng. 

'  I  will  get  a  light  and  tell  you.  Step  into  the 
summer-house ;  the  air  is  quiet  there.' 

The  cadence  of  that  voice — its  peculiarity  seemed 
to  come  home  to  him  Hke  that  of  some  notes  of  the 
northern  birds  on  his  return  to  his  native  clime,  as  an 
old  natural  thing  renewed,  yet  not  particularly  noticed 
as  natural  before  that  renewal. 

They  entered  the  Belvedere.  In  the  lower  part  it 
was  formed  of  close  wood-work  nailed  crosswise,  and 
had  openings  in  the  upper  by  way  of  windows. 

The  scratch  of  a  striking  light  was  heard,  and  a  bright 
glow  radiated  from  the  interior  of  the  building.  The 
light  gave  birth  to  dancing  leaf-shadows,  stem-shadows, 
lustrous  streaks,  dots,  sparkles,  and  threads  of  silver 
sheen  of  all  imaginable  variety  and  transience.  It 
awakened  gnats,  which  flew  towards  it,  revealed  shiny 
gossamer  threads,  disturbed  earthworms.  Stephen  gave 
but  little  attention  to  these  phenomena,  and  less  time. 
He  saw  in  the  summer-house  a  strongly  illuminated 
picture. 

First,  the  face  of  his  friend  and  preceptor  Henry 
Knight,  between  whom  and  himself  an  estrangement 
had  arisen,  not  from  any  definite  causes  beyond  those 
of  absence,  increasing  age,  and  diverging  sympathies. 

Next,  his  bright  particular  star,  Elfride.  The  face 
of  Elfride  was  more  womanly  than  when  she  had  called 
herself  his,  but  as  clear  and  healthy  as  ever.  Her 
plenteous  twines  of  beautiful  hair  were  looking  much 
as   usual,   with   the  exception  of  a  slight  modification 

286 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

in  their  arrangement  in  deference    to  the   changes  of 
fashion. 

Their  two  foreheads  were  close  together,  almost 
{^  touching,  and  both  were  looking  down.  Elfride  was 
holding  her  watch,  Knight  was  holding  the  light  with 
one  hand,  his  left  arm  being  round  her  waist.  Part  of 
the  scene  reached  Stephen's  eyes  through  the  horizontal 
bars  of  woodwork,  which  crossed  their  forms  like  the 
ribs  of  a  skeleton. 

Knight's  arm  stole  still  further  round  the  waist  of 
Elfride. 

'  It  is  half-past  eight,'  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  which 
had  a  peculiar  music  in  it,  seemingly  born  of  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  at  the  new  proof  that  she  was  beloved. 

The  flame  dwindled  down,  died  away,  and  all  was 
wrapped  in  a  darkness  to  which  the  gloom  before  the 
illumination  bore  no  comparison  in  apparent  density. 
Stephen,  shattered  in  spirit  and  sick  to  his  heart's 
centre,  turned  away.  In  turning,  he  saw  a  shadowy 
outline  behind  the  summer-house  on  the  other  side. 
His  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  darkness.  Was  the 
form  a  human  form,  or  was  it  an  opaque  bush  of 
juniper  ? 

The  lovers  arose,  brushed  against  the  laurestines, 
and  pursued  their  way  to  the  house.  The  indistinct 
figure  had  moved,  and  now  passed  across  Smith's  front. 
So  completely  enveloped  was  the  person,  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  discern  him  or  her  any  more  than  as  a  shape. 
The  shape  glided  noiselessly  on. 

Stephen  stepped  forward,  fearing  any  mischief  was 
intended  to  the  other  two.     *  Who  are  yoa  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Never  mind  who  I  am,'  answered  a  weak  whisper 
from  the  enveloping  folds.  *  What  I  am,  may  she  be ! 
Perhaps  I  knew  well — ah,  so  well! — a  youth  whose 
place  you  took,  as  he  there  now  takes  yours.  Will  you 
let  her  break  your  heart,  and  bring  you  to  an  untimely 
grave,  as  she  did  the  one  before  you  ?  ' 
287 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

*  You  are  Mrs.  Jethway,  I  think.  What  do  you  do 
here  ?     And  why  do  you  talk  so  wildly  ?  ' 

'  Because  my  heart  is  desolate,  and  nobody  cares 
about  it.  May  hers  be  so  that  brought  trouble  upon 
me!' 

*  Silence  ! '  said  Stephen,  staunch  to  Elfride  in  spite 
of  himself.  '  She  would  harm  nobody  wilfully,  never 
would  she  !     How  do  you  come  here  ?  ' 

'  I  saw  the  two  coming  up  the  path,  and  wanted  to 
learn  if  she  were  not  one  of  them.  Can  I  help  disliking 
her  if  I  think  of  the  past  ?  Can  I  help  watching  her  if 
I  remember  my  boy  ?  Can  I  help  ill-wishing  her  if  I 
well-wish  him  ? ' 

The  bowed  form  went  on,  passed  through  the  wicket, 
and  was  enveloped  by  the  shadows  of  the  field. 

Stephen  had  heard  that  Mrs.  Jethway,  since  the 
death  of  her  son,  had  become  a  crazed,  forlorn  woman  ; 
and  bestowing  a  pitying  thought  upon  her,  he  dismissed 
her  fancied  wrongs  from  his  mind,  but  not  her  condem- 
nation of  Elfride's  faithlessness.  That  entered  into  and 
mingled  with  the  sensations  his  new  experience  had 
begotten.  The  tale  told  by  the  little  scene  he  had  wit- 
nessed ran  parallel  with  the  unhappy  woman's  opinion, 
which,  however  baseless  it  might  have  been  antecedently, 
had  become  true  enough  as  regarded  himself. 

A  slow  weight  of  despair,  as  distinct  from  a  violent 
paroxysm  as  starvation  from  a  mortal  shot,  filled  him 
and  wrung  him  body  and  soul.  The  discovery  had  not 
been  altogether  unexpected,  for  throughout  his  anxiety 
of  the  last  few  days  since  the  night  in  the  churchyard, 
he  had  been  inclined  to  construe  the  uncertainty  un- 
favourably for  himself.  His  hopes  for  the  best  had 
been  but  periodic  interruptions  to  a  chronic  fear  of  the 
worst. 

A  strange  concomitant  of  his  misery  was  the  singu- 
larity of  its  form.  That  his  rival  should  be  Knight, 
whom  once  upon  a  time  he  had  adored  as  a  man  is 
288 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

very  rarely  adored  by  another  in  modern  times,  and 
whom  he  loved  now,  added  deprecation  to  sorrow,  and 
cynicism  to  both.  Henry  Knight,  whose  praises  he 
had  so  frequently  trumpeted  in  her  ears,  of  whom  she 
had  actually  been  jealous,  lest  she  herself  should  be 
lessened  in  Stephen's  love  on  account  of  him,  had  pro- 
bably won  her  the  more  easily  by  reason  of  those  very 
praises  which  he  had  only  ceased  to  utter  by  her  com- 
mand. She  had  ruled  him  like  a  queen  in  that  matter, 
as  in  all  others.  Stephen  could  tell  by  her  manner, 
brief  as  had  been  his  observation  of  it,  and  by  her 
words,  few  as  they  were,  that  her  position  was  far 
different  with  Knight.  That  she  looked  up  at  and 
adored  her  new  lover  from  below  his  pedestal,  was 
even  more  perceptible  than  that  she  had  smiled  down 
upon  Stephen  from  a  height  above  him. 

The  suddenness  of  Elfride's  renunciation  of  himself 
was  food  for  more  torture.  To  an  unimpassioned  out- 
sider, it  admitted  of  at  least  two  interpretations — it 
might  either  have  proceeded  from  an  endeavour  to  be 
faithful  to  her  first  choice,  till  the  lover  seen  absolutely 
overpowered  the  lover  remembered,  or  from  a  wish  not 
to  lose  his  love  till  sure  of  the  love  of  another.  But 
to  Stephen  Smith  the  motive  involved  in  the  latter 
alternative  made  it  untenable  where  Elfride  was  the 
actor. 

He  mused  on  her  letters  to  him,  in  which  she  had 
never  mentioned  a  syllable  concerning  Knight.  It  is 
desirable,  however,  to  observe  that  only  in  two  letters 
could  she  possibly  have  done  so.  One  was  written 
about  a  week  before  Knight's  arrival,  when,  though 
she  did  not  mention  his  promised  coming  to  Stephen, 
she  had  hardly  a  definite  reason  in  her  mind  for 
neglecting  to  do  it.  *In  the  next  she  did  casually 
allude  to  Knight.  But  Stephen  had  left  Bombay  long 
before  that  letter  arrived. 

Stephen  looked  at  the  black  form  of  the  adjacent 
289  T 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

house,  where  it  cut  a  dark  polygonal  notch  out  of  the 
sky,  and  felt  that  he  hated  the  spot.  He  did  not  know 
many  facts  of  the  case,  but  could  not  help  instinctively 
associating  Elfride's  fickleness  with  the  marriage  of  her 
father,  and  their  introduction  to  London  society.  He 
closed  the  iron  gate  bounding  the  shrubbery  as  noise- 
lessly as  he  had  opened  it,  and  went  into  the  grassy 
field.  Here  he  could  see  the  old  vicarage,  the  house 
alone  that  was  associated  with  the  sweet  pleasant  time 
of  his  incipient  love  for  Elfride.  Turning  sadly  from 
the  place  that  was  no  longer  a  nook  in  which  his 
thoughts  might  nestle  when  he  was  far  away,  he  wan- 
dered in  the  direction  of  the  east  village,  to  reach  his 
father's  house  before  they  retired  to  rest. 

The  nearest  way  to  the  cottage  was  by  crossing  the 
park.  He  did  not  hurry.  Happiness  frequently  has 
reason  for  haste,  but  it  is  seldom  that  desolation  need 
scramble  or  strain.  Sometimes  he  paused  under  the 
low-hanging  arms  of  the  trees,  looking  vacantly  on  the 
ground. 

Stephen  was  standing  thus,  scarcely  less  crippled 
in  thought  than  he  was  blank  in  vision,  when  a  clear 
sound  permeated  the  quiet  air  about  him,  and  spread 
on  far  beyond.  The  sound  was  the  stroke  of  a  bell 
from  the  tower  of  East  Endelstow  Church,  which  stood 
in  a  dell  not  forty  yards  from  Lord  Luxellian's  mansion, 
and  within  the  park  enclosure.  Another  stroke  greeted 
his  ear,  and  gave  character  to  both :  then  came  a  slow 
succession  of  them. 

*  Somebody  is  dead,'  he  said  aloud. 

The  death  -  knell  of  an  inhabitant  of  the  eastern 
parish  was  being  tolled. 

An  unusual  feature  in  the  tolling  was  that  it  had 
not  been  begun  according  to  the  custom  in  Endelstow 
and  other  parishes  in  the  neighbourhood.  At  every 
death  the  sex  and  age  of  the  deceased  were  announced 
by  a  system  of  changes.  Three  times  three  strokes 
290 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

signified  that  the  departed  one  was  a  man ;  three  times 
two,  a  woman ;  twice  three,  a  boy ;  twice  two,  a  girl. 
The  regular  continuity  of  th^  tolling  suggested  that  it 
was  the  resumption  rather  than  the  beginning  of  a 
knell — the  opening  portion  of  which  Stephen  had  not 
been  near  enough  to  hear. 

The  momentary  anxiety  he  had  felt  with  regard  to 
his  parents  passed  away.  He  had  left  them  in  perfect 
health,  and  had  any  serious  illness  seized'  either,  a  com- 
munication would  have  reached  him  ere  this.  At  the 
same  time,  since  his  way  homeward  lay  under  the 
churchyard  yews,  he  resolved  to  look  into  the  belfry 
in  passing  by,  and  speak  a  word  to  Martin  Cannister, 
who  would  be  there. 

Stephen  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  felt 
inclined  to  renounce  his  idea.  His  mood  was  such 
that  talking  to  any  person  to  whom  he  could  not 
unburden  himself  would  be  wearisome.  However, 
before  he  could  put  any  inclination  into  effect,  the 
young  man  saw  from  amid  the  trees  a  bright  light 
shining,  the  rays  from  which  radiated  like  needles 
through  the  sad  plumy  foliage  of  the  yews.  Its  direc- 
tion was  from  the  centre  of  the  churchyard. 

Stephen  mechanically  went  forward.  Never  could 
there  be  a  greater  contrast  between  two  places  of  like 
purpose  than  between  this  graveyard  and  that  of  the 
further  village.  Here  the  grass  was  carefully  tended, 
and  formed  virtually  a  part  of  the  manor-house  lawn ; 
flowers  and  shrubs  being  planted  indiscriminately  over 
both,  whilst  the  few  graves  visible  were  mathematically 
exact  in  shape  and  smoothness,  appearing  in  the  day- 
time Hke  chins  newly  shaven.  There  was  no  wall,  the 
division  between  God's  Acre  and  Lord  Luxellian's 
being  marked  only  by  a  few  square  stones  set  at 
equidistant  points.  Among  those  persons  who  have 
romantic  sentiments  on  the  subject  of  their  last  dwell- 
ing-place, probably  the  greater  number  would  have 
291 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

chosen  such  a  spot  as  this  in  preference  to  any  other  :  a 
few  would  have  fancied  a  constraint  in  its  trim  neatness, 
and  would  have  preferred  the  wild  hill-top  of  the  neigh- 
bouring site,  with  Nature  in  her  most  negligent  attire. 

The  light  in  the  churchyard  he  next  discovered  to 
have  its  source  in  a  point  very  near  the  ground,  and 
Stephen  imagined  it  might  come  from  a  lantern  in  the 
interior  of  a  partly-dug  grave.  But  a  nearer  approach 
showed  him  that  its  position  was  immediately  under  the 
wall  of  the  aisle,  and  within  the  mouth  of  an  archway. 
He  could  now  hear  voices,  and  the  truth  of  the  whole 
matter  began  to  dawn  upon  him.  Walking  on  towards 
the  opening.  Smith  discerned  on  his  left  hand  a  heap  of 
earth,  and  before  him  a  flight  of  stone  steps  which  the 
removed  earth  had  uncovered,  leading  down  under  the 
edifice.  It  was  the  entrance  to  a  large  family  vault, 
extending  under  the  north  aisle. 

Stephen  had  never  before  seen  it  open,  and  descend- 
ing one  or  two  steps  stooped  to  look  under  the  arch. 
The  vault  appeared  to  be  crowded  with  coffins,  with  the 
exception  of  an  open  central  space,  which  had  been  neces- 
sarily kept  free  for  ingress  and  access  to  the  sides,  round 
three  of  which  the  coffins  were  stacked  in  stone  bins 
or  niches. 

The  place  was  well  lighted  with  candles  stuck  in 
slips  of  wood  that  w^ere  fastened  to  the  wall.  On  making 
the  descent  of  another  step  the  living  inhabitants  of 
the  vault  were  recognizable.  They  were  his  father  the 
master-mason,  an  under-mason,  Martin  Cannister,  and 
two  or  three  young  and  old  labouring-men.  Crowbars 
and  workmen's  hammers  were  scattered  about.  The 
whole  company,  sitting  round  on  coffins  which  had 
been  removed  from  their  places,  apparently  for  some 
alteration  or  enlargement  of  the  vault,  were  eating 
bread  and  cheese,  and  drinking  ale  from  a  cup  with 
two  handles,  passed  round  from  each  to  each. 

*  Who  is  dead  ? '  Stephen  inquired,  stepping  down. 
292 


XXVI 

•  To  that  last  nothing  under  earth.* 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  the  entrance  as  Stephen 
spoke,  and  the  ancient-mannered  conclave  scrutinized 
him  inquiringly. 

*  Why,  'tis  our  Stephen  ! '  said  his  father,  rising  from 
his  seat ;  and,  still  retaining  the  frothy  mug  in  his  left 
hand,  he  swung  forward  his  right  for  a  grasp.  *  Your 
mother  is  expecting  ye — thought  you  would  have  come 
afore  dark.  But  you'll  wait  and  go  home  with  me  ?  I 
have  all  but  done  for  the  day,  and  was  going  directly.' 

'  Yes,  'tis  Master  Stephy,  sure  enough.  Glad  to  see 
you  so  soon  again,  Master  Smith,'  said  Martin  Cannister, 
chastening  the  gladness  expressed  in  his  words  by  a 
strict  neutrality  of  countenance,  in  order  to  harmonize 
the  feeling  as  much  as  possible  with  the  solemnity  of  a 
family  vault. 

'  The  same  to  you,  Martin ;  and  you,  William,'  said 
Stephen,  nodding  around  to  the  rest,  who,  having  their 
mouths  full  of  bread  and  cheese,  were  of  necessity  com- 
pelled to  reply  merely  by  compressing  their  eyes  to 
friendly  lines  and  wrinkles. 

*  And  who  is  dead  ? '  Stephen  repeated. 

*Lady  Luxellian,  poor  gentlewoman,  as  we  all  shall,' 
293 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

said  the  under-mason.  '  Ay,  and  we  be  going  to  enlarge 
the  vault  to  make  room  for  her.' 

'  When  did  she  die  ?  ' 

'  Early  this  morning,'  his  father  replied,  with  an 
appearance  of  recurring  to  a  chronic  thought.  '  Yes, 
this  morning.  Martin  hev  been  tolling  ever  since, 
almost.     There,  'twas  expected.     She  was  very  limber.' 

'Ay,  poor  soul,  this  morning,'  resumed  the  under- 
mason,  a  marvellously  old  man,  whose  skin  seemed  so 
much  too  large  for  his  body  that  it  would  not  stay  in 
position.  '  She  must  know  by  this  time  whether  she's 
to  go  up  or  down,  poor  woman.' 

*  What  was  her  age  ?  ' 

*  Not  more  than  seven  or  eight  and  twenty  by  candle- 
light. But,  Lord !  by  day  'a  was  forty  if  'a  were  an 
hour.' 

'  Ay,  night-time  or  day-time  makes  a  difference  of 
twenty  years  to  rich  feymels,'  observed  Martin. 

'  She  was  one  and  thirty  really,'  said  John  Smith. 
*  I  had  it  from  them  that  know.' 

*  Not  more  than  that ! ' 

*  'A  looked  very  bad,  poor  lady.  In  faith,  ye  might 
say  she  was  dead  for  years  afore  'a  would  own  it.' 

'  As  my  old  father  used  to  say,  "  dead,  but  wouldn't 
drop  down." ' 

'  I  seed  her,  poor  soul,'  said  a  labourer  from  behind 
some  removed  coffins,  '  only  but  last  Valentine's-day  of 
all  the  world.  'A  was  arm  in  crook  wi'  my  lord.  I 
says  to  myself,  "  You  be  ticketed  Churchyard,  my  noble 
lady,  although  you  don't  dream  on't." ' 

'  I  suppose  my  lord  will  write  to  all  the  other  lords 
anointed  in  the  nation,  to  let  'em  know  that  she  that 
was  is  now  no  more  ?  ' 

*  'Tis  done  and  past.  I  see  a  bundle  of  letters  go 
off  an  hour  after  the  death.  Sich  wonderful  black  rims 
as  they  letters  had — half-an-inch  wide,  at  the  very  least.' 

*  Too  much,'  observed  Martin.     '  In  short,  'tis  out 

294 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  the  question  that  a  human  being  can  be  so  mournful 
as  black  edges  half-an-inch  wide.  I'm  sure  people  don't 
feel  more  than  a  very  narrow  border  when  they  feels 
most  of  all.' 

'  And  there  are  two  little  girls,  are  there  not  ?  *  said 
Stephen. 

'  Nice  clane  Httle  faces  ! — left  motherless  now.' 

'  They  used  to  come  to  Parson  Swancourt's  to  play 
with  Miss  Elfride  when  I  were  there,'  said  William 
Worm.  *  Ah,  they  did  so's  ! '  The  latter  sentence  was 
introduced  to  add  the  necessary  melancholy  to  a  remark 
which,  intrinsically,  could  hardly  be  made  to  possess 
enough  for  the  occasion.  *Yes,'  continued  Worm, 
*  they'd  run  upstairs,  they'd  run  down ;  flitting  about 
with  her  everywhere.  Very  fond  of  her,  they  were. 
Ah,  well ! ' 

'  Fonder  than  ever  they  were  of  their  mother,  so  'tis 
said  here  and  there,'  added  a  labourer. 

<  Well,  you  see,  'tis  natural.  Lady  Luxellian  stood 
aloof  from  'em  so — was  so  drowsy-like,  that  they  couldn't 
love  her  in  the  jolly-companion  way  children  want  to 
like  folks.  Only  last  winter  I  seed  Miss  Elfride  talking 
to  my  lady  and  the  two  children,  and  Miss  Elfride 
wiped  their  noses  for  em'  so  careful — my  lady  never 
once  seeing  that  it  wanted  doing;  and,  naturally, 
children  take  to  people  that's  their  best  friend.' 

'  Be  as  'twill,  the  woman  is  dead  and  gone,  and  we 
must  make  a  place  for  her,'  said  John.  '  Come,  lads, 
drink  up  your  ale,  and  we'll  just  rid  this  corner,  so  as  to 
have  all  clear  for  beginning  at  the  wall,  as  soon  as  'tis 
light  to-morrow.' 

Stephen  then  asked  where  Lady  Luxellian  was  to  lie. 

'  Here,'  said  his  father.  '  We  are  going  to  set  back 
this  wall  and  make  a  recess ;  and  'tis  enough  for  us  to 
do  before  the  funeral.  When  my  lord's  mother  died, 
she  said,  "John,  the  place  must  be  enlarged  before 
another  can  be  put  in."  But  'a  never  expected  'twould 
295 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

be  wanted  so  soon.  Better  move  Lord  George  first,  I 
suppose,  Simeon  ? ' 

He  pointed  with  his  foot  to  a  heavy  coffin,  covered 
with  what  had  originally  been  red  velvet,  the  colour  of 
which  could  only  just  be  distinguished  now. 

'Just  as  ye  think  best.  Master  John,'  replied  the 
shrivelled  mason.  *  Ah,  poor  Lord  George  ! '  he  con- 
tinued, looking  contemplatively  at  the  huge  coffih ;  '  he 
and  I  were  as  bitter  enemies  once  as  any  could  be 
when  one  is  a  lord  and  t'other  only  a  mortal  man. 
Poor  fellow !  He'd  clap  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder 
and  cuss  me  as  familiar  and  neighbourly  as  if  he'd 
been  a  common  chap.  Ay,  'a  cussed  me  up  hill  and 
'a  cussed  me  down ;  and  then  'a  would  rave  out  again, 
and  the  goold  clamps  of  his  fine  new  teeth  would  gUsten 
in  the  sun  like  fetters  of  brass,  while  I,  being  a  smalJ 
man  and  poor,  was  fain  to  say  nothing  at  all.  Such  a 
strappen  fine  gentleman  as  he  was  too  !  Yes,  I  rather 
liked  en  sometimes.  But  once  now  and  then,  when  I 
looked  at  his  towering  height,  I'd  think  in  my  inside, 
"  What  a  weight  you'll  be,  my  lord,  for  our  arms  to 
lower  under  the  aisle  of  Endelstow  Church  some 
day !  " ' 

'  And  was  he  ?  '  inquired  a  young  labourer. 

*  He  was.  He  was  five  hundredweight  if  'a  were  a 
pound.  What  with  his  lead,  and  his  oak,  and  his 
handles,  and  his  one  thing  and  t'other' — here  the 
ancient  man  slapped  his  hand  upon  the  cover  with  a 
force  that  caused  a  rattle  among  the  bones  inside — '  he 
half  broke  my  back  when  I  took  his  feet  to  lower  en 
down  the  steps  there.  "  Ah/'  saith  I  to  John  there — 
didn't  I,  John  ? — "  that'  ever  one  man's  glory  should  be 
such  a  weight  upon  another  man  !  "  But  there,  I  liked 
my  lord  George  sometimes.' 

'  'Tis  a  strange  thought,'  said  another,  '  that  while 
they  be  all  here  under  one  roof,  a  snug  united  family 
o*  Luxellians,  they  be  really  scattered  miles  away  from 
296 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

one  another  in  the  form  of  good  sheep  and  wicked  goats, 
isn't  it  ? ' 

'  True ;  'tis  a  thought  to  look  at.' 

'And  that  one,  if  he's  gone  upward,  don't  know 
what  his  wife  is  doing  no  more  than  the  man  in  the 
moon  if  she's  gone  downward.  And  that  some  un- 
fortunate one  in  the  hot  place  is  a-hollering  across  to 
a  lucky  one  up  in  the  clouds,  and  quite  forgetting  their 
bodies  be  boxed  close  together  all  the  time.' 

'  Ay,  'tis  a  thought  to  look  at,  too,  that  I  can  say 
"  Hullo !  "  close  to  fiery  Lord  George,  and  'a  can't 
hear  me.' 

'  And  that  I  be  eating  my  onion  close  to  dainty  Lady 
Jane's  nose,  and  she  can't  smell  me.' 

'  What  do  'em  put  all  their  heads  one  way  for  ? ' 
inquired  a  young  man. 

*  Because  'tis  churchyard  law,  you  simple.  The  law 
of  the  Hving  is,  that  a  man  shall  be  upright  and  down- 
right ;  and  the  law  of  the  dead  is,  that  a  man  shall  be 
east  and  west.     Every  state  of  society  have  its  laws.' 

'  We  must  break  the  law  wi'  a  few  of  the  poor  souls, 
however.     Come,  buckle  to,'  said  the  master-mason. 

And  they  set  to  work  anew. 

The  order  of  interment  could  be  distinctly  traced  by 
observing  the  appearance  of  the  cofifins  as  they  lay  piled 
around.  On  those  which  had  been  standing  there  but 
a  generation  or  two  the  trappings  still  remained.  Those 
of  an  earlier  period  showed  bare  wood,  with  a  few 
tattered  rags  dangling  therefrom.  Earlier  still,  the  wood 
lay  in  fragments  on  the  floor  of  the  niche,  and  the  coffin 
consisted  of  naked  lead  alone ;  whilst  in  the  case  of  the 
very  oldest,  even  the  lead  was  bulging  and  cracking  in 
pieces,  revealing  to  the  curious  eye  a  heap  of  dust  within. 
The  shields  upon  many  were  quite  loose,  and  removable 
by  the  hand,  their  lustreless  surfaces  still  indistinctly 
exhibiting  the  name  and  title  of  the  deceased. 

Overhead  the  groins  and  concavities  of  the  arches 

u  297 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

curved  in  all  directions,  dropping  low  towards  the  walls, 
where  the  hei<]jht  was  no  more  than  sufficient  to  enable 

o 

a  person  to  stand  upright. 

The  body  of  George  the  fourteenth  baron,  together 
with  two  or  three  others,  all  of  more  recent  date  than 
the  great  bulk  of  coffins  piled  there,  had,  for  want  of 
room,  been  placed  at  the  end  of  the  vault  on  tressels, 
and  not  in  niches  Hke  the  others.  These  it  was  neces- 
sary to  remove,  to  form  behind  them  the  chamber  in 
which  they  were  ultimately  to  be  deposited.  Stephen, 
finding  the  place  and  proceedings  in  keeping  with  the 
sombre  colours  of  his  mind,  waited  there  still. 

'  Simeon,  I  suppose  you  can  mind  poor  Lady  Elfride, 
and  how  she  ran  away  with  the  actor  ?  '  said  John  Smith, 
after  awhile.  *  I  think  it  fell  upon  the  time  my  father 
was  sexton  here.     Let  us  see — where  is  she  ?  ' 

*  Here  somewhere,'  returned  Simeon,  looking  round 
him. 

*  Why,  I've  got  my  arms  round  the  very  gentlewoman 
at  this  moment.'  He  lowered  the  end  of  the  coffin  he 
was  holding,  wiped  his  face,  and  throwing  a  morsel  of 
rotten  wood  upon  another  as  an  indicator,  continued : 
'  That's  her  husband  there.  They  was  as  fair  a  couple 
as  you  should  see  anywhere  round  about ;  and  a  good- 
hearted  pair  likewise.  Ay,  I  can  mind  it,  though  I  was 
but  a  chiel  at  the  time.  She  fell  in  love  with  this  young 
man  of  hers,  and  their  banns  were  asked  in  some  church 
in  London ;  and  the  old  lord  her  father  actually  heard 
'em  asked  the  three  times,  and  didn't  notice  her  name, 
being  gabbled  on  wi'  a  host  of  others.  When  she  had 
married  she  told  her  father,  and  'a  fleed  into  a  mon- 
strous rage,  and  said  she  shouldn'  hae  a  farthing. 
Lady  Elfride  said  she  didn't  think  of  wishing  it ;  if  he'd 
forgie  her  'twas  all  she  asked,  and  as  for  a  living,  she 
was  content  to  play  plays  with  her  husband.  This 
frightened  the  old  lord,  and  'a  gie'd  'em  a  house  to  live 
in,  and  a  great  garden,  and  a  little  field  or  two,  and  a 

298 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

carriage,  and  a  good  few  guineas.  Well,  the  poor  thing 
died  at  her  first  gossiping,  and  her  husband — who  was 
as  tender-hearted  a  man  as  ever  eat  meat,  and  would 
have  died  for  her — went  wild  in  his  mind,  and  broke 
his  heart  (so  'twas  said).  Anyhow,  they  were  buried 
the  same  day — father  and  mother — but  the  baby  lived. 
Ay,  my  lord's  family  made  much  of  that  man  then,  and 
put  him  here  with  his  wife,  and  there  in  the  corner  the 
man  is  now.  The  Sunday  after  there  was  a  funeral 
sermon  :  the  text  was,  "  Or  ever  the  silver  cord  be  loosed, 
or  the  golden  bowl  be  broken  ;  "  and  when  'twas  preach- 
ing the  men  drew  their  hands  across  their  eyes  several 
times,  and  every  woman  cried  out  loud.' 

'  And  what  became  of  the  baby  ?  '  said  Stephen,  who 
had  frequently  heard  portions  of  the  story. 

'  She  was  brought  up  by  her  grandmother,  and  a 
pretty  maid  she  were.  And  she  must  needs  run  away 
with  the  curate — Parson  Swancourt  that  is  now.  Then 
her  grandmother  died,  and  the  title  and  everything  went 
away  to  another  branch  of  the  family  altogether.  Parson 
Swancourt  wasted  a  good  deal  of  his  wife's  money,  and 
she  left  him  Miss  Elfride.  That  trick  of  running  away 
seems  to  be  handed  down  in  families,  like  craziness  or 
gout.     And  they  two  women  be  alike  as  peas.' 

<  Which  two  ?  ' 

*Lady  Elfride  and  young  Miss  that's  alive  now. 
The  same  hair  and  eyes  :  but  Miss  Elfride's  mother  was 
darker  a  good  deal.' 

'  Life's  a  strangle  bubble,  ye  see,'  said  William  Worm 
musingly.  '  For  if  the  Lord's  anointment  had  de- 
scended upon  women  instead  of  men,  Miss  Elfride 
would  be  Lord  Luxellian — Lady,  I  mane.  But  as 
it  is,  the  blood  is  run  out,  and  she's  nothing  to  the 
Luxellian  family  by  law,  whatever  she  may  be  by 
gospel.' 

'  I  used  to  fancy,'  said  Simeon,  '  when  I  seed  Miss 
Elfride  hugging  the  little  ladyships,  that  there  was  a 
299 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

likeness ;  but  I  suppose  'twas  only  my  dream,  for  years 
must  have  altered  the  old  family  shape.' 

'And  now  we'll  move  these  two,  and  home-along,' 
interposed  John  Smith,  reviving,  as  became  a  master, 
the  spirit  of  labour,  which  had  showed  unmistakable 
signs  of  being  nearly  vanquished  by  the  spirit  of  chat. 
'  The  flagon  of  ale  we  don't  want  we'll  let  bide  here  till 
to-morrow;  none  of  the  poor  souls  will  touch  it  'a 
b'lieve.' 

So  the  evening's  work  was  concluded,  and  the  party 
drew  from  the  abode  of  the  quiet  dead,  closing  the  old 
iron  door,  and  shooting  the  lock  loudly  into  the  huge 
copper  staple — an  incongruous  act  of  imprisonment 
towards  those  who  had  no  dreams  of  escape. 


XXVII 

•  How  should  I  greet  thee?' 

Love  frequently  dies  of  time  alone  —  much  more 
frequently  of  displacement.  With  Elfride  Swancourt,  a 
powerful  reason  why  the  displacement  should  be  suc- 
cessful was  that  the  new-comer  was  a  greater  man  than 
the  first.  By  the  side  of  the  instructive  and  piquant 
snubbings  she  received  from  Knight,  Stephen's  general 
agreeableness  seemed  watery ;  by  the  side  of  Knight's 
spare  love-making,  Stephen's  continual  outflow  seemed 
lackadaisical.  She  had  begun  to  sigh  for  somebody 
further  on  in  manhood.  Stephen  was  hardly  enough  of 
a  man. 

Perhaps  there  was  a  proneness  to  inconstancy  in 
her  nature — a  nature,  to  those  who  contemplate  it  from 
a  standpoint  beyond  the  influence  of  that  inconstancy, 
the  most  exquisite  of  all  in  its  plasticity  and  ready 
sympathies.  Partly,  too,  Stephen's  failure  to  make  his 
hold  on  her  heart  a  permanent  one  was  his  too  timid 
habit  of  dispraising  himself  beside  her — a  peculiarity 
which,  exercised  towards  sensible  men,  stirs  a  kindly 
chord  of  attachment  that  a  marked  assertiveness  would 
leave  untouched,  but  inevitably  leads  the  most  sensible 
woman  in  the  world  to  undervalue  him  who  practises 
3or 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

it.  Directly  domineering  ceases  in  the  man,  snubbing 
begins  in  the  woman ;  the  trite  but  no  less  unfortunate 
fact  being  that  the  gentler  creature  rarely  has  the 
capacity  to  appreciate  fair  treatment  from  her  natural 
complement.  The  abiding  perception  of  the  position 
of  Stephen's  parents  had,  of  course,  a  little  to  do  with 
Elfride's  renunciation.  To  such  girls  poverty  may  not 
be,  as  to  the  more  worldly  masses  of  humanity,  a  sin 
in  itself;  but  it  is  a  sin,  because  graceful  and  dairty 
manners  seldom  exist  in  such  an  atmosphere.  Few 
women  of  old  family  can  be  thoroughly  taught  that  a 
fine  soul  may  wear  a  smock-frock,  and  an  admittedly 
common  man  in  one  is  but  a  worm  in  their  eyes. 
John  Smith's  rough  hands  and  clothes,  his  wife's 
dialect,  the  necessary  narrowness  of  their  ways,  being 
constantly  under  Elfride's  notice,  were  not  without  their 
deflecting  influence. 

On  reaching  home  after  the  perilous  adventure  by 
the  sea-shore.  Knight  had  felt  unwell,  and  retired  almost 
immediately.  The  young  lady  who  had  so  materially 
assisted  him  had  done  the  same,  but  she  reappeared, 
properly  clothed,  about  five  o'clock.  She  wandered 
restlessly  about  the  house,  but  not  on  account  of  their 
joint  narrow  escape  from  death.  The  storm  which  had 
torn  the  tree  had  merely  bowed  the  reed,  and  with  the 
deliverance  of  Knight  all  deep  thought  of  the  accident 
had  left  her.  The  mutual  avowal  which  it  had  been 
the  means  of  precipitating  occupied  a  far  longer  length 
of  her  meditations. 

Elfride's  disquiet  now  was  on  account  of  that  miser- 
able promise  to  meet  Stephen,  which  returned  like  a 
spectre  again  and  again.  The  perception  of  his  littleness 
beside  Knight  grew  upon  her  alarmingly.  She  now 
thought  how  sound  had  been  her  father's  advice  to  her 
to  give  him  up,  and  was  as  passionately  desirous  of 
following  it  as  she  had  hitherto  been  averse.  Perhaps 
there  is  nothing  more  hardening  to  the  tone  of  young 
302 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

minds  than  thus  to  discover  how  their  dearest  and 
strongest  wishes  become  gradually  attuned  by  Time  the 
Cynic  to  the  very  note  of  some  selfish  policy  which  in 
earlier  days  they  despised. 

The  hour  of  appointment  came,  and  with  it  a  crisis ; 
and  with  the- crisis  a  collapse. 

*  God  forgive  me — I  can't  meet  Stephen ! '  she 
exclaimed  to  herself.  '  I  don't  love  him  less,  but  I 
love  Mr.  Knight  more  ! ' 

Yes :  she  would  save  herself  from  a  man  not  fit  for 
her — in  spite  of  vows.  She  would  obey  her  father,  and 
have  no  more  to  do  with  Stephen  Smith.  Thus  the 
fickle  resolve  showed  signs  of  assuming  the  complexion 
of  a  virtue. 

The  following  days  were  passed  without  any  definite 
avowal  from  Knight's  lips.  Such  solitary  walks  and 
scenes  as  that  witnessed  by  Smith  in  the  summer-house 
were  frequent,  but  he  courted  her  so  intangibly  that  to 
any  but  such  a  delicate  perception  as  Elfride's  it  would 
have  appeared  no  courtship  at  all.  The  time  now  really 
began  to  be  sweet  with  her.  She  dismissed  the  sense 
of  sin  in  her  past  actions,  and  was  automatic  in  the 
intoxication  of  the  moment.  The  fact  that  Knight 
made  no  actual  declaration  was  no  drawback.  Knowing 
since  the  betrayal  of  his  sentiments  that  love  for  her 
really  existed,  she  preferred  it  for  the  present  in  its 
form  of  essence,  and  was  willing  to  avoid  for  awhile  the 
grosser  medium  of  words.  Their  feelings  having  been 
forced  to  a  rather  premature  demonstration,  a  reaction 
was  indulged  in  by  both. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  got  rid  of  her  troubled 
conscience  on  the  matter  of  faithlessness  than  a  new 
anxiety  confronted  her.  It  was  lest  Knight  should 
accidentally  meet  Stephen  in  the  parish,  and  that  herself 
should  be  the  subject  of  discourse. 

Elfride,  learning  Knight  more  thoroughly,  perceived 
that,  far  from  having  a  notion  of  Stephen's  precedence, 
303 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

he  had  no  idea  that  she  had  ever  been  wooed  before 
by  anybody.  On  ordinary  occasions  she  had  a  tongue 
so  frank  as  to  show  her  whole  mind,  and  a  mind  so 
straightforward  as  to  reveal  her  heart  to  its  innermost 
shrine.  But  the  time  for  a  change  had  come.  She 
never  alluded  to  even  a  knowledge  of  Knight's  friend. 
When  women  are  secret  they  are  secret  indeed;  and 
more  often  than  not  they  only  begin  to  be  secret  with 
the  advent  of  a  second  lover. 

The  elopement  was  now  a  spectre  worse  than  the 
first,  and,  like  the  Spirit  in  Glenfinlas,  it  waxed  taller 
with  every  attempt  to  lay  it.  Her  natural  honesty  in- 
vited her  to  confide  in  Knight,  and  trust  to  his  gener- 
osity for  forgiveness  :  she  knew  also  that  as  mere  policy 
it  would  be  better  to  tell  him  early  if  he  was  to  be  told 
at  all.  The  longer  her  concealment  the  more  difficult 
would  be  the  revelation.  But  she  put  it  off.  The 
intense  fear  which  accompanies  intense  love  in  young 
women  was  too  strong  to  allow  the  exercise  of  a  moral 
quality  antagonistic  to  itself: 

'  Where  love  is  great,  the  littlest  doubts  are  fear ; 
Where  little  fears  grow  great,  great  love  grows  there.' 

The  match  was  looked  upon  as  made  by  her  father 
and  mother.  The  vicar  remembered  her  promise  to 
reveal  the  meaning  of  the  telegram  she  had  received, 
and  two  days  after  the  scene  in  the  summer-house, 
asked  her  pointedly.      She  was  frank  with  him  now. 

'  I  had  been  corresponding  with  Stephen  Smith  ever 
since  he  left  England,  till  lately,'  she  calmly  said. 

'  What ! '  cried  the  vicar  aghast ;  '  under  the  eyes  of 
Mr.  Knight,  too  ?  ' 

'  No ;  when  I  found  I  cared  most  for  Mr.  Knight, 
I  obeyed  you.' 

'You  were  very  kind,  I'm  sure.  When  did  you 
begin  to  like  Mr.  Knight  ? ' 

*.I  don't  see  that  that  is  a  pertinent  question,  papa; 
304 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

the  telegram  was  from  the  shipping  agent,  and  was  not 
sent  at  my  request.  It  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
vessel  bringing  him  home.' 

*  Home  !     What,  is  he  here  ?  ' 

*  Yes ;  in  the  village,  I  believe.' 
'  Has  he  tried  to  see  you  ?  ' 

'  Only  by  fair  means.  But  don't,  papa,  question  me 
so  !     It  is  torture.' 

'  I  will  only  say  one  word  more,'  he  replied.  *  Have 
you  met  him  ?  ' 

*  I  have  not.  I  can  assure  you  that  at  the  present 
moment  there  is  no  more  of  an  understanding  between 
me  and  the  young  man  you  so  much  disliked  than 
between  him  and  you.  You  told  me  to  forget  him; 
and  I  have  forgotten  him.' 

'  Oh,  well ;  though  you  did  not  obey  me  in  the  begin- 
ning, you  are  a  good  girl,  Elfride,  in  obeying  me  at  last.' 

*  Don't  call  me  "  good,"  papa,'  she  said  bitterly ; 
*  you  don't  know — and  the  less  said  about  some  things 
the  better.  Remember,  Mr.  Knight  knows  nothing 
about  the  other.  Oh,  how  wrong  it  all  is  !  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  coming  to.' 

'  As  matters  stand,  I  should  be  incHned  to  tell  him ; 
or,  at  any  rate,  I  should  not  alarm  myself  about  his 
knowing.  He  found  out  the  other  day  that  this  was 
the  parish  young  Smith's  father  lives  in — what  puts  you 
in  such  a  flurry  ? ' 

'  I  can't  say ;  but  promise  —  pray  don't  let  him 
know  !     It  would  be  my  ruin  ! ' 

'  Pooh,  child.  Knight  is  a  good  fellow  and  a  clever 
man ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  does  not  escape  my  per- 
ceptions that  he  is  no  great  catch  for  you.  Men  of 
his  turn  of  mind  are  nothing  so  wonderful  in  the  way 
of  husbands.  If  you  had  chosen  to  wait,  you  might 
have  mated  with  a  much  wealthier  man.  But  remember, 
I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  your  having  him,  if 
you  hke  him.  Charlotte  is  delighted,  as  you  know.' 
30s  U 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

'  Well,  papa,'  she  said,  smiling  hopefully  through  a 
sigh,  '  it  is  nice  to  feel  that  in  giving  way  to — to  caring 
for  him,  I  have  pleased  my  family.  But  I  am  not  good ; 
oh  no,  I  am  very  far  from  that ! ' 

'  None  of  us  are  good,  I  am  sorry  to  say,'  said  her 
father  blandly ;  '  but  girls  have  a  chartered  right  to 
change  their  minds,  you  know.  It  has  been  recognized 
by  poets  from  time  immemorial.  Catullus  says,  "  Mulier 
cupido  quod  dicit  amanti,  in  vento — '  What  a  memory 
mine  is !  However,  the  passage  is,  that  a  woman's 
words  to  a  lover  are  as  a  matter  of  course  written  only 
on  wind  and  water.  Now  don't  be  troubled  about  that, 
Elfride.' 

'  Ah,  you  don't  know  ! ' 

They  had  been  standing  on  the  lawn,  and  Knight 
was  now  seen  lingering  some  way  down  a  winding  walk. 
When  Elfride  met  him,  it  was  with  a  much  greater 
lightness  of  heart;  things  were  more  straightforward 
now.  The  responsibility  of  her  fickleness  seemed  partly 
shifted  from  her  own  shoulders  to  her  father's.  Still, 
there  were  shadows. 

*Ah,  could  he  have  known  how  far  I  went  with 
Stephen,  and  yet  have  said  the  same,  how  much  happier 
I  should  be ! '     That  was  her  prevailing  thought. 

In  the  afternoon  the  lovers  went  out  together  on 
horseback  for  an  hour  or  two ;  and  though  not  wishing 
to  be  observed,  by  reason  of  the  late  death  of  Lady 
LuxelUan,  whose  funeral  had  taken  place  very  privately 
on  the  previous  day,  they  yet  found  it  necessary  to  pass 
East  Endelstow  Church. 

The  steps  to  the  vault,  as  has  been  stated,  were  on 
the  outside  of  the  building,  immediately  under  the  aisle 
wall.  Being  on  horseback,  both  Knight  and  Elfride 
could  overlook  the  shrubs  which  screened  the  church- 
yard. 

*  Look,  the  vault  seems  still  to  be  open,'  said  Knight. 

*  Yes,  it  is  open,'  she  answered. 

306 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

'  Who  is  that  man  close  by  it  ?  The  mason,  I 
suppose  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  I  wonder  if  it  is  John  Smith,  Stephen's  father  ? ' 

'  I  beUeve  it  is,'  said  Elfride,  with  apprehension. 

*Ah,  and  can  it  be?  I  should  like  to  inquire  how 
his  son,  my  truant  protdg^,  is  going  on.  And  from 
your  father's  description  of  the  vault,  the  interior  must 
be  interesting.     Suppose  we  go  in.' 

*  Had  we  better,  do  you  think  ?  May  not  Lord 
Luxellian  be  there  ? ' 

*  It  is  not  at  all  Hkely.' 

Elfride  then  assented,  since  she  could  do  nothing 
else.  Her  heart,  which  at  first  had  quailed  in  con- 
sternation, recovered  itself  when  she  considered  the 
character  of  John  Smith.  A  quiet  unassuming  man,  he 
would  be  sure  to  act  towards  her  as  before  those  love 
passages  with  his  son,  which  might  have  given  a  more 
pretentious  mechanic  airs.  So  without  much  alarm  she 
took  Knight's  arm  after  dismounting,  and  went  with 
him  between  and  over  the  graves.  The  master-mason 
recognized  her  as  she  approached,  and,  as  usual,  Hfted 
his  hat  respectfully. 

'  I  know  you  to  be  Mr.  Smith,  my  former  friend 
Stephen's  father,'  said  Knight,  directly  he  had  scanned 
the  embrowned  and  ruddy  features  of  John. 

'  Yes,  sir,  I  b'Heve  I  be.' 

'  How  is  your  son  now  ?  I  have  only  once  heard 
from  him  since  he  went  to  India.  I  daresay  you  have 
heard  him  speak  of  me — Mr.  Knight,  who  became 
acquainted  with  him  some  years  ago  in  Exonbury.' 

'  Ay,  that  I  have.  Stephen  is  very  well,  thank  you, 
sir,  and  he's  in  England;  in  fact,  he's  at  home.  In 
short,  sir,  he's  down  in  the  vault  there,  a-looking  at  the 
departed  coffins.' 

Elfride's  heart  fluttered  like  a  butterfly. 

Knight  looked  amazed.  'Well,  that  is  extraordi- 
307 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

nary.'  he  murmured.  '  Did  he  know  I  was  in  the 
parish  ? ' 

'  I  really  can't  say,  sir,'  said  John,  wishing  him- 
self out  of  the  entanglement  he  rather  suspected  than 
thoroughly  understood. 

'  Would  it  be  considered  an  intrusion  by  the  family 
if  we  went  into  the  vault  ?  ' 

*  Oh,  bless  ye,  no,  sir ;  scores  of  folk  have  been 
stepping  down.     'Tis  left  open  a-purpose.' 

'  We  will  go  down,  Elfride.' 

'  I  am  afraid  the  air  is  close,'  she  said  appealingly. 

'  Oh  no,  ma'am,'  said  John.  *  We  white-limed  the 
walls  and  arches  the  day  'twas  opened,  as  we  always  do, 
and  again  on  the  morning  of  the  funeral ;  the  place  is 
as  sweet  as  a  granary.' 

'  Then  I  should  like  you  to  accompany  me,  Elfie ; 
having  originally  sprung  from  the  family  too.' 

'  I  don't  like  going  where  death  is  so  emphatically 
present.  I'll  stay  by  the  horses  whilst  you  go  in ;  they 
may  get  loose.' 

*  What  nonsense !  I  had  no  idea  your  sentiments 
were  so  flimsily  formed  as  to  be  perturbed  by  a  few 
remnants  of  mortality;  but  stay  out,  if  you  are  so 
afraid,  by  all  means.' 

*  Oh  no,  I  am  not  afraid ;  don't  say  that.' 

She  held  miserably  to  his  arm,  thinking  that,  perhaps, 
the  revelation  might  as  well  come  at  once  as  ten  minutes 
later,  for  Stephen  would  be  sure  to  accompany  his  friend 
to  his  horse. 

At  first,  the  gloom  of  the  vault,  which  was  lighted 
only  by  a  couple  of  candles,  was  too  great  to  admit 
of  their  seeing  anything  distinctly  ;  but  with  a  further 
advance  Knight  discerned,  in  front  of  the  black  masses 
lining  the  walls,  a  young  man  standing,  and  writing 
in  a  pocket-book. 

Knight  said  one  word  :  '  Stephen  ! ' 

Stephen  Smith,  not  being  in  such  absolute  ignorance 
308 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  Knight's  whereabouts  as  Knight  had  been  of  Smith's, 
instantly  recognized  his  friend,  and  knew  by  rote  the 
outUnes  of  the  fair  woman  standing  behind  him. 

Stephen  came  forward  and  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
without  speaking. 

'  Why  have  you  not  written,  my  boy  ? '  said  Knight, 
without  in  any  way  signifying  Elfride's  presence  to 
Stephen.  To  the  essayist.  Smith  was  still  the  country 
lad  whom  he  had  patronized  and  tended ;  one  to  whom 
the  formal  presentation  of  a  lady  betrothed  to  himself 
would  have  seemed  incongruous  and  absurd. 

*  Why  haven't  you  written  to  me  ? '  said  Stephen. 

'  Ah,  yes.  Why  haven't  I  ?  why  haven't  we  ? 
That's  always  the  query  which  we  cannot  clearly 
answer  without  an  unsatisfactory  sense  of  our  inade- 
quacies. However,  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  Smith. 
And  now  we  have  met ;  and  we  must  meet  again, 
and  have  a  longer  chat  than  this  can  conveniently 
be.  I  must  know  all  you  have  been  doing.  That 
you  have  thriven,  I  know,  and  you  must  teach  me 
the  way.' 

Elfride  stood  in  the  background.  Stephen  had  read 
the  position  at  a  glance,  and  immediately  guessed  that 
she  had  never  mentioned  his  name  to  Knight.  His 
tact  in  avoiding  catastrophes  was  the  chief  quality 
which  made  him  intellectually  respectable,  in  which 
quality  he  far  transcended  Knight;  and  he  decided 
that  a  tranquil  issue  out  of  the  encounter,  without  any 
harrowing  of  the  feehngs  of  either  Knight  or  Elfride, 
was  to  be  attempted  if  possible.  His  old  sense  of 
indebtedness  to  Knight  had  never  wholly  forsaken 
him ;  his  love  for  Elfride  was  generous  now. 

As  far  as  he  dared  look  at  her  movements  he  saw 
that  her  bearing  towards  him  would  be  dictated  by  his 
own  towards  her;  and  if  he  acted  as  a  stranger  she 
would  do  likewise  as  a  means  of  deliverance.  Circum- 
stances favouring  this  course,  it  was  desirable  also  to 
309 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

be   rather    reserved    towards    Knight,    to    shorten    the 
meeting  as  much  as  possible. 

*  I  am  afraid  that  my  time  is  almost  too  short  to 
allow  even  of  such  a  pleasure,'  he  said.  '  I  leave  here 
to-morrow.  And  until  I  start  for  the  Continent  and 
India,  which  will  be  in  a  fortnight,  I  shall  have  hardly 
a  moment  to  spare.' 

Knight's  disappointment  and  dissatisfied  looks  at 
this  reply  sent  a  pang  through  Stephen  as  great  as  any 
he  had  felt  at  the  sight  of  Elfride.  The  words  about 
shortness  of  time  were  literally  true,  but  their  tone  was 
far  from  being  so.  He  would  have  been  gratified  to 
talk  with  Knight  as  in  past  times,  and  saw  as  a  dead 
loss  to  himself  that,  to  save  the  woman  who  cared 
nothing  for  him,  he  was  deliberately  throwing  away  his 
friend. 

*  Oh,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,'  said  Knight,  in  a 
changed  tone.  '  But  of  course,  if  you  have  weighty 
concerns  to  attend  to,  they  must  not  be  neglected. 
And  if  this  is  to  be  our  first  and  last  meeting,  let 
me  say  that  I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart ! ' 
Knight's  warmth  revived  towards  the  end;  the  solemn 
impressions  he  was  beginning  to  receive  from  the  scene 
around  them  abstracting  from  his  heart  as  a  puerility 
any  momentary  vexation  at  words.  'It  is  a  strange 
place  for  us  to  meet  in,'  he  continued,  looking  round 
the  vault. 

Stephen  briefly  assented,  and  there  was  a  silence. 
The  blackened  coffins  were  now  revealed  more  clearly 
than  at  first,  the  whitened  walls  and  arches  throwing 
them  forward  in  strong  relief.  It  was  a  scene  which 
was  remembered  by  all  three  as  an  indelible  mark  in 
their  history.  Knight,  with  an  abstracted  face,  was 
standing  between  his  companions,  though  a  little  in 
advance  of  them,  Elfride  being  on  his  right  hand,  and 
Stephen  Smith  on  his  left.  The  white  daylight  on  his 
right  side  gleamed  faintly  in,  and  was  toned  to  a  blue- 
310 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

ness  by  contrast  with  the  yellow  rays  from  the  candle 
against  the  wall.  Elfride,  timidly  shrinking  back,  and 
nearest  the  entrance,  received  most  of  the  light  there- 
from, whilst  Stephen  was  entirely  in  candlelight,  and  to 
him  the  spot  of  outer  sky  visible  above  the  s^eps  was  as 
a  steely  blue  patch,  and  nothing  more. 

*  I  have  been  here  two  or  three  times  since  it  was 
opened,'  said  Stephen.  '  My  father  was  engaged  in 
the  work,  you  know.' 

*  Yes.  What  are  you  doing  ? '  Knight  inquired, 
looking  at  the  note-book  and  pencil  Stephen  held  in 
his  hand. 

'  I  have  been  sketching  a  few  details  in  the  church, 
and  since  then  I  have  been  copying  the  names  from 
some  of  the  coffins  here.  Before  I  left  England  I  used 
to  do  a  good  deal  of  this  sort  of  thing.' 

'  Yes ;  of  course.  Ah,  that's  poor  Lady  Luxellian, 
I  suppose.'  Knight  pointed  to  a  coffin  of  light  satin- 
wood,  which  stood  on  the  stone  sleepers  in  the  new 
niche.  '  And  the  remainder  of  the  family  are  on  this 
side.    Who  are  those  two,  so  snug  and  close  together  ? ' 

Stephen's  voice  altered  slightly  as  he  replied  :  '  That's 
Lady  Elfride  Kingsmore — born  Luxellian,  and  that  is 
Arthur,  her  husband.  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that 
they — he — ran  away  with  her,  and  married  her  against 
the  wish  of  her  parents.' 

'Then  I  imagine  this  to  be  where  you  got  your 
Christian  name,  Miss  Swancourt  ? '  said  Knight,  turn- 
ing to  her.  '  I  think  you  told  me  it  was  three  or  four 
generations  ago  that  your  family  branched  off  from  the 
Luxellians  ? ' 

'  She  was  my  grandmother,'  said  Elfride,  vainly  en- 
deavouring to  moisten  her  dry  lips  before  she  spoke. 
Elfride  had  then  the  conscience-stricken  look  of  Guido's 
Magdalen,  rendered  upon  a  more  childlike  form.  She 
kept  her  face  partially  away  from  Knight  and  Stephen, 
and  set  her  eyes  upon  the  sky  visible  outside,  as  if  her 
3" 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

salvation  depended  upon  quickly  reaching  it.  Her  left 
hand  rested  lightly  within  Knight's  arm,  half  withdrawn, 
from  a  sense  of  shame  at  claiming  him  before  her  old 
lover,  yet  unwilling  to  renounce  him ;  so  that  her  glove 
merely  touched  his  sleeve.  '  "  Can  one  be  pardoned,  and 
retain  the  offence  ?  "  '  quoted  Elfride's  heart  then. 

Conversation  seemed  to  have  no  self-sustaining 
power,  and  went  on  in  the  shape  of  disjointed  remarks. 
'  One's  mind  gets  thronged  with  thoughts  while  stand- 
ing so  solemnly  here,'  Knight  said,  in  a  measured  quiet 
voice.  '  How  much  has  been  said  on  death  from  time 
to  time !  how  much  we  ourselves  can  think  upon  it ! 
We  may  fancy  each  of  these  who  lie  here  saying : 

*  For  Thou,  to  make  my  fall  more  great, 

Didst  lift  me  up  on  high.' 

What  comes  next,  Elfride?  It  is  the  Hundred-and- 
second  Psalm  I  am  thinking  of.' 

'  Yes,  I  know  it,'  she  murmured,  and  went  on  in  a 
still  lower  voice,  seemingly  afraid  for  any  words  from 
the  emotional  side  of  her  nature  to  reach  Stephen  : 

*  "  My  days,  just  hastening  to  their  end. 

Are  like  an  evening  shade  ; 
My  beauty  doth,  like  wither'd  grass, 
With  waning  lustre  fade." ' 

*Well,'  said  Knight  musingly,  *let  us  leave  them. 
Such  occasions  as  these  seem  to  compel  us  to  roam 
outside  ourselves,  far  away  from  the  fragile  frame  we  live 
in,  and  to  expand  till  our  perception  grows  so  vast  that 
our  physical  reality  bears  no  sort  of  proportion  to  it. 
We  look  back  upon  the  weak  and  minute  stem  on  which 
this  luxuriant  growth  depends,  and  ask.  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible that  such  a  capacity  has  a  foundation  so  small  ? 
Must  I  again  return  to  my  daily  walk  in  that  narrov/ 
cell,  a  human  body,  where  worldly  thoughts  can  torture 
me?     Do  we  not?' 

312 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Yes,'  said  Stephen  and  Elfride. 

*  One  has  a  sense  of  wrong,  too,  that  such  an  ap- 
preciative breadth  as  a  sentient  being  possesses  should 
be  committed  to  the  frail  casket  of  a  body.  What 
weakens  one's  intentions  regarding  the  future  like  the 
thought  of  this  ?  .  .  .  .  However,  let  us  tune  ourselves 
to  a  more  cheerful  chord,  for  there's  a  great  deal  to  be 
done  yet  by  us  all.' 

As  Knight  meditatively  addressed  his  juniors  thus, 
unconscious  of  the  deception  practised,  for  different 
reasons,  by  the  severed  hearts  at  his  side,  and  of  the 
scenes  that  had  in  earlier  days  united  them,  each  one 
felt  that  he  and  she  did  not  gain  by  contrast  with  their 
musing  mentor.  Physically  not  so  handsome  as  either 
the  youthful  architect  or  the  vicar's  daughter,  the  thor- 
oughness and  integrity  of  Knight  illuminated  his  features 
with  a  dignity  not  even  incipient  in  the  other  two.  It  is 
difficult  to  frame  rules  which  shall  apply  to  both  sexes, 
and  Elfride,  an  undeveloped  girl,  must,  perhaps,  hardly 
be  laden  with  the  moral  responsibihties  which  attach  to 
a  man  in  like  circumstances.  The  charm  of  woman, 
too,  lies  partly  in  her  subtleness  in  matters  of  love.  But 
if  honesty  is  a  virtue  in  itself,  Elfride,  having  none  of  it 
now,  seemed,  being  for  being,  scarcely  good  enough  for 
Knight.  Stephen,  though  deceptive  for  no  unworthy 
purpose,  was  deceptive  after  all ;  and  whatever  good  re- 
sults grace  such  strategy  if  it  succeed,  it  seldom  draws 
admiration,  especially  when  it  fails. 

On  an  ordinary  occasion,  had  Knight  been  even  quite 
alone  with  Stephen,  he  would  hardly  have  alluded  to  his 
possible  relationship  to  Elfride.  But  moved  by  attendant 
circumstances  Knight  w^as  impelled  to  be  confiding. 

'  Stephen,'  he  said,  '  this  lady  is  Miss  Swancourt.  I 
am  staying  at  her  father's  house,  as  you  probably  know.' 
He  stepped  a  few  paces  nearer  to  Smith,  and  said  in  a 
lower  tone  :  '  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  we  are  engaged 
to  be  married.' 

^  313 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Low  as  the  words  had  been  spoken,  Elfride  had 
heard  them,  and  awaited  Stephen's  reply  in  breathless 
silence,  if  that  could  be  called  silence  where  Elfride's 
dress,  at  each  throb  of  her  heart,  shook  and  indicated 
it  like  a  pulse-glass,  rustling  also  against  the  wall  in 
reply  to  the  same  throbbing.  The  ray  of  daylight  which 
reached  her  face  lent  it  a  blue  pallor  in  comparison  with 
those  of  the  other  two. 

'  I  congratulate  you,'  Stephen  whispered ;  and  said 
aloud,  '  I  know  Miss  Swancourt — a  little.  You  must 
remember  that  my  father  is  a  parishioner  of  Mr.  Swan- 
court's.' 

'  I  thought  you  might  possibly  not  have  lived  at 
home  since  they  have  been  here.' 

*  I  have  never  lived  at  home,  certainly,  since  that 
time.' 

'  I  have  seen  Mr.  Smith,'  faltered  Elfride. 

'  Well,  there  is  no  excuse  for  me.  As  strangers  to 
each  other  I  ought,  I  suppose,  to  have  introduced  you  : 
,as  acquaintances,  I  should  not  have  stood  so  persis- 
tently between  you.  But  the  fact  is,  Smith,  you  seem  a 
boy  to  me,  even  now.' 

Stephen  appeared  to  have  a  more  than  previous  con- 
sciousness of  the  intense  cruelty  of  his  fate  at  the 
present  moment.  He  could  not  repress  the  words, 
uttered  with  a  dim  bitterness  : 

'  You  should  have  said  that  I  seemed  still  the  rural 
mechanic's  son  I  am,  and  hence  an  unfit  subject  for  the 
ceremony  of  introductions.' 

'  Oh,  no,  no  !  I  won't  have  that.'  Knight  endea- 
voured to  give  his  reply  a  laughing  tone  in  Elfride's 
ears,  and  an  earnestness  in  Stephen's  :  in  both  which 
efforts  he  signally  failed,  and  produced  a  forced  speech 
pleasant  to  neither.  '  Well,  let  us  go  into  the  open  air 
again;  Miss  Swancourt,  you  are  particularly  silent. 
You  mustn't  mind  Smith.  I  have  known  him  for  years, 
as  I  have  told  you.' 

314 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*Yes,  you  have,'  she  said. 

'  To  think  she  has  never  mentioned  her  knowledge  of 
me ! '  Smith  murmured,  and  thought  with  som.e  remorse 
how  much  her  conduct  resembled  his  own  on  his  first 
arrival  at  her  house  as  a  stranger  to  the  place. 

They  ascended  to  the  daylight.  Knight  taking  no 
further  notice  of  Elfride's  manner,  which,  as  usual,  he 
attributed  to  the  natural  shyness  of  a  young  woman  at 
being  discovered  walking  with  him  on  terms  which  left 
not  much  doubt  of  their  meaning.  Elfride  stepped  a 
little  in  advance,  and  passed  through  the  churchyard. 

'You  are  changed  very  considerably.  Smith,'  said 
Knight,  '  and  I  suppose  it  is  no  more  than  was  to  be 
expected.  However,  don't  imagine  that  I  shall  feel 
any  the  less  interest  in  you  and  your  fortunes  whenever 
you  care  to  confide  them  to  me.  I  have  not  forgotten 
the  attachment  you  spoke  of  as  your  reason  for  going 
away  to  India.  A  London  young  lady,  was  it  not  ?  I 
hope  all  is  prosperous  ?  ' 

'  No  :  the  match  is  broken  off.' 

It  being  always  difficult  to  know  whether  to  express 
sorrow  or  gladness  under  such  circumstances — all  de- 
pending upon  the  character  of  the  match — Knight 
took  shelter  in  the  safe  words  :  '  I  trust  it  was  for  the 
best.' 

'  I  hope  it  was.  But  I  beg  that  you  will  not  press 
me  further  :  no,  you  have  not  pressed  me — I  don't 
mean  that — but  I  would  rather  not  speak  upon  the 
subject.' 

Stephen's  w^ords  were  hurried. 

Knight  said  no  more,  and  they  followed  in  the  foot- 
steps of  Elfride,  who  still  kept  some  paces  in  advance, 
and  had  not  heard  Knight's  unconscious  allusion  to 
her.  Stephen  bade  him  adieu  at  the  churchyard-gate 
without  going  outside,  and  watched  whilst  he  and  his 
sweetheart  mounted  their  horses. 

*Good   heavens,   Elfride,'   Knight  exclaimed,   'how 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

pale  you  are  !  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  taken 
you  into  that  vault.     What  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

'  Nothing,'  said  Elfride  faintly.  '  I  shall  be  myself 
in  a  moment.  All  was  so  strange  and  unexpected  down 
there,  that  it  made  me  unwell.' 

'  I  thought  you  said  very  little.  Shall  I  get  some 
water  ? ' 

'  No,  no.' 

*  Do  you  think  it  is  safe  for  you  to  mount  ? ' 

*  Quite — indeed  it  is,'  she  said,  with  a  look  of  appeal. 

*  Now  then — up  she  goes  ! '  whispered  Knight,  and 
lifted  her  tenderly  into  the  saddle. 

Her  old  lover  still  looked  on  at  the  performance  as 
he  leant  over  the  gate  a  dozen  yards  off.  Once  in  the 
saddle,  and  having  a  firm  grip  of  the  reins,  she  turned 
her  head  as  if  by  a  resistless  fascination,  and  for  the 
first  time  since  that  memorable  parting  on  the  moor 
outside  St.  Launce's  after  the  passionate  attempt  at 
marriage  with  him,  Elfride  looked  in  the  face  of  the 
young  man  she  first  had  loved.  He  was  the  youth  who 
had  called  her  his  inseparable  wife  many  a  time,  and 
whom  she  had  even  addressed  as  her  husband.  Their 
eyes  met.  Measurement  of  life  should  be  proportioned 
rather  to  the  intensity  of  the  experience  than  to  its 
actual  length.  Their  glance,  but  a  moment  chrono- 
logically, was  a  season  in  their  history.  To  Elfride  the 
intense  agony  of  reproach  in  Stephen's  eye  was  a  nail 
piercing  her  heart  with  a  deadliness  no  words  can 
describe.  With  a  spasmodic  effort  she  withdrew  her 
eyes,  urged  on  the  horse,  and  in  the  chaos  of  perturbed 
memories  was  oblivious  of  any  presence  beside  her. 
The  deed  of  deception  was  complete. 

Gaining  a  knoll  on  which  the  park  transformed  itself 
into  wood  and  copse.  Knight  came  still  closer  to  her 
side,  and  said,  '  Are  you  better  now,  dearest  ? ' 

'  Oh  yes.'  She  pressed  a  hand  to  her  eyes,  as  if  to 
blot  out  the  image  of  Stephen.  A  vivid  scarlet  spot 
316 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

now  shone  with  preternatural  brightness  in  the  centre 
of  each  cheek,  leaving  the  remainder  of  her  face  lily- 
white  as  before. 

'  Elfride,'  said  Knight,  rather  in  his  old  tone  of 
mentor,  'you  know  I  don't  for  a  moment  chide  you, 
but  is  there  not  a  great  deal  of  unwomanly  weakness 
in  your  allowing  yourself  to  be  so  overwhelmed  by  the 
sight  of  what,  after  all,  is  no  novelty  ?  Every  woman 
worthy  of  the  name  should,  I  think,  be  able  to  look 
upon  death  with  something  like  composure.  Surely 
you  think  so  too  ?  ' 

'  Yes  ;  I  own  it.' 

His  obtuseness  to  the  cause  of  her  indisposition, 
by  evidencing  his  entire  freedom  from  the  suspicion 
of  anything  behind  the  scenes,  showed  how  incapable 
Knight  was  of  deception  himself,  rather  than  any  in- 
herent dulness  in  him  regarding  human  nature.  This, 
clearly  perceived  by  Elfride,  added  poignancy  to  her 
self-reproach,  and  she  idolized  him  the  more  because 
of  their  difference.  Even  the  recent  sight  of  Stephen's 
face  and  the  sound  of  his  voice,  which  for  a  moment 
had  stirred  a  chord  or  two  of  ancient  kindness,  were 
unable  to  keep  down  the  adoration  re-existent  now  that 
he  was  again  out  of  view. 

She  had  replied  to  Knight's  question  hastily,  and 
immediately  went  on  to  speak  of  indifferent  subjects. 
After  they  had  reached  home  she  was  apart  from  him 
till  dinner-time.  When  dinner  was  over,  and  they  were 
watching  the  dusk  in  the  drawing-room,  Knight  stepped 
out  upon  the  terrace.  Elfride  went  after  him  very 
decisively,  on  the  spur  of  a  virtuous  intention. 

'  Mr.  Knight,  I  want  to  tell  you  something,'  she  said, 
with  quiet  firmness. 

*And  what  is  it  about?'  gaily  returned  her  lover. 
*  Happiness,  I  hope.  Do  not  let  anything  keep  you  so 
sad  as  you  seem  to  have  been  to-day.' 

*  I  cannot  mention  the  matter  until  I  tell  you  the 
317 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

whole  substance  of  it,'  she  said.  '  And  that  I  will  do 
to-morrow.  I  have  been  reminded  of  it  to-day.  It  is 
about  something  I  once  did,  and  don't  think  I  ought  to 
have  done.' 

This,  it  must  be  said,  was  rather  a  mild  way  of 
referring  to  a  frantic  passion  and  flight,  which,  much 
or  little  in  itself,  only  accident  had  saved  from  being  a 
scandal  in  the  public  eye. 

Knight  thought  the  matter  some  trifle,  and  said 
pleasantly : 

*  Then  I  am  not  to  hear  the  dreadful  confession 
now?' 

*  No,  not  now.  I  did  not  mean  to-night,'  Elfride 
responded,  with  a  shght  decline  in  the  firmness  of  her 
voice.  *  It  is  not  light  as  you  think  it — it  troubles  me 
a  great  deal.'  Fearing  now  the  effect  of  her  own 
earnestness,  she  added  forcedly,  *  Though,  perhaps,  you 
may  think  it  light  after  all.' 

'  But  you  have  not  said  when  it  is  to  be  ? ' 
'  To-morrow  morning.  Name  a  time,  will  you,  and 
bind  me  to  it  ?  I  want  you  to  fix  an  hour,  because  I 
am  weak,  and  may  otherwise  try  to  get  out  of  it.'  She 
added  a  little  artificial  laugh,  which  showed  how  timorous 
her  resolution  was  still. 

'  Well,  say  after  breakfast — at  eleven  o'clock.' 
*Yes,   eleven   o'clock.      I   promise  you.      Bind  me 
strictly  to  my  word.' 


XXVIII 

•  I  lull  a  fancy,  trouble-tost.' 

Miss  SWANCOURT,  it  is  eleven  o'clock.' 

She  was  looking  out  of  her  dressing-room  window  on 
the  first  floor,  and  Knight  was  regarding  her  from  the 
terrace  balustrade,  upon  which  he  had  been  idly  sitting 
for  some  time — dividing  the  glances  of  his  eye  between 
the  pages  of  a  book  in  his  hand,  the  brilliant  hues  of  the 
geraniums  and  calceolarias,  and  the  open  window  above- 
mentioned. 

'  Yes,  it  is,  I  know.      I  am  coming.' 

He  drew  closer,  and  under  the  window. 

'How  are  you  this  morning,  Elfride?  You  look  no 
better  for  your  long  night's  rest.' 

She  appeared  at  the  door  shortly  after,  took  his 
offered  arm,  and  together  they  walked  slowly  down  the 
gravel  path  leading  to  the  river  and  away  under  the  trees. 

Her  resolution,  sustained  during  the  last  fifteen 
hours,  had  been  to  tell  the  whole  truth,  and  now  the 
moment  had  come. 

Step  by  step  they  advanced,  and  still  she  did  not 
speak.  They  were  nearly  at  the  end  of  the  walk,  when 
Knight  broke  the  silence. 

<  Well,  what  is  the  confession,  Elfride  ?  ' 
319 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

She  paused  a  moment,  drew  a  long  breath;  and 
this  is  what  she  said  : 

'  I  told  you  one  day — or  rather  I  gave  you  to  under- 
stand— what  was  not  true.  I  fancy  you  thought  me  to 
mean  I  was  nineteen  my  next  birthday,  but  it  was  my 
last  I  was  nineteen.' 

The  moment  had  been  too  much  for  her.  Now 
that  the  crisis  had  come,  no  qualms  of  conscience,  no 
love  of  honesty,  no  yearning  to  make  a  confidence  and 
obtain  forgiveness  with  a  kiss,  could  string  Elfride  up  to 
the  venture.  Her  dread  lest  he  should  be  unforgiving 
was  heightened  by  the  thought  of  yesterday's  artifice, 
which  might  possibly  add  disgust  to  his  disappointment. 
The  certainty  of  one  more  day's  affection,  which  she 
gained  by  silence,  outvalued  the  hope  of  a  perpetuity 
combined  with  the  risk  of  all. 

The  trepidation  caused  by  these  thoughts  on  what 
she  had  intended  to  say  shook  so  naturally  the  words 
she  did  say,  that  Knight  never  for  a  moment  suspected 
them  to  be  a  last  moment's  substitution.  He  smiled 
and  pressed  her  hand  warmly. 

'  My  dear  Elfie — yes,  you  are  now — no  protestation — > 
what  a  winning  little  woman  you  are,  to  be  so  absurdly 
scrupulous  about  a  mere  iota !  Really,  I  never  once 
have  thought  whether  your  nineteenth  year  was  the  last 
or  the  present.  And,  by  George,  well  I  may  not ;  for 
it  would  never  do  for  a  staid  fogey  a  dozen  years  older 
to  stand  upon  such  a  trifle  as  that.' 

'  Don't  praise  me — don't  praise  me !  Though  I 
prize  it  from  your  lips,  I  don't  deserve  it  now.' 

But  Knight,  being  in  an  exceptionally  genial  mood, 
merely   saw    this    distressful    exclamation    as   modesty. 

*  Well,'  he  added,  after  a  minute,  '  I  like  you  all  the 
better,  you  know,  for  such  moral  precision,  although  I 
called  it  absurd.'      He  went  on  with  tender  earnestness  : 

*  For,  Elfride,  there  is  one  thing  I  do  love  to  see  in  a 
woman — that  is,  a  soul  truthful  and  clear  as  heaven's 

320 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

light.  I  could  put  up  with  anything  if  I  had  that — 
forgive  nothing  if  I  had  it  not.  Elfride,  you  have  such 
a  soul,  if  ever  woman  had ;  and  having  it,  retain  it,  and 
don't  ever  listen  to  the  fashionable  theories  of  the  day 
about  a  woman's  privileges  and  natural  right  to  practise 
wiles.  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  girl,  that  a  noble 
woman  must  be  as  honest  as  a  noble  man.  I  specially 
mean  by  honesty,  fairness  not  only  in  matters  of  business 
and  social  detail,  but  in  all  the  delicate  dealings  of  love, 
to  which  the  licence  given  to  your  sex  particularly  refers.' 
Elfride  looked  troublously  at  the  trees. 

*  Now  let  us  go  on  to  the  river,  Elfie.' 

*  I  would  if  I  had  a  hat  on,'  she  said  with  a  sort  of 
suppressed  woe. 

'  I  will  get  it  for  you,'  said  Knight,  very  willing  to 
purchase  her  companionship  at  so  cheap  a  price.  *  You 
sit  down  there  a  minute.'  And  he  turned  and  walked 
rapidly  back  to  the  house  for  the  article  in  question, 

Elfride  sat  down  upon  one  of  the  rustic  benches 
which  adorned  this  portion  of  the  grounds,  and  remained 
with  her  eyes  upon  the  grass.  She  was  induced  to  lift 
them  by  hearing  the  brush  of  light  and  irregular  foot- 
steps hard  by.  Passing  along  the  path  which  inter- 
sected the  one  she  was  in  and  traversed  the  outer 
shrubberies,  Elfride  beheld  the  farmer's  widow,  Mrs. 
Jethway.  Before  she  noticed  Elfride,  she  paused  to 
look  at  the  house,  portions  of  which  were  visible  through 
the  bushes.  Elfride,  shrinking  back,  hoped  the  un- 
pleasant woman  might  go  on  without  seeing  her.  But 
Mrs.  Jethway,  silently  apostrophizing  the  house,  with 
actions  which  seemed  dictated  by  a  half-overturned 
reason,  had  discerned  the  girl,  and  immediately  came 
up  and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

*  Ah,  Miss  Swancourt !  Why  did  you  disturb  me  ? 
Mustn't  I  trespass  here  ?  ' 

'  You  may  walk  here  if  you  like,  Mrs.  Jethway.  I 
do  not  disturb  you.' 

321  X 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

'  You  disturb  my  mind,  and  my  mind  is  my  whole 
life ;  for  my  boy  is  there  still,  and  he  is  gone  from  my 
body.' 

'  Yes,  poor  young  man.     I  was  sorry  when  he  died.' 

'  Do  you  know  what  he  died  of? ' 

'  Consumption.' 

'  Oh  no,  no  ! '  said  the  widow.  '  That  word  "  con- 
sumption "  covers  a  good  deal.  He  died  because  you 
were  his  own  well-agreed  sweetheart,  and  then  proved 
false — and  it  killed  him.  Yes,  Miss  Swancourt,'  she 
said  in  an  excited  whisper,  '  you  killed  my  son  ! ' 

'  How  can  you  be  so  wicked  and  foolish ! '  replied 
Elfride,  rising  indignantly.  But  indignation  was  not 
natural  to  her,  and  having  been  so  worn  and  harrowed 
by  late  events,  she  lost  any  powers  of  defence  that  mood 
might  have  lent  her.  *  I  could  not  help  his  loving  me, 
Mrs.  Jethway ! ' 

'  That's  just  what  you  could  have  helped.  You 
know  how  it  began,  Miss  Elfride.  Yes  :  you  said  you 
hked  the  name  of  Fehx  better  than  any  other  name  in 
the  parish,  and  you  knew  it  was  his  name,  and  that 
those  you  said  it  to  would  report  it  to  him.' 

*  I  knew  it  was  his  name — of  course  I  did ;  but  I 
am  sure,  Mrs.  Jethway,  I  did  not  intend  anybody  to 
tell  him.' 

'  But  you  knew  they  would.' 
'  No,  I  didn't.' 

*  And  then,  after  that,  when  you  were  riding  on 
Revels-day  by  our  house,  and  the  lads  were  gathered 
there,  and  you  wanted  to  dismount,  when  Jim  Drake 
and  George  Upway  and  three  or  four  more  ran  forward  to 
hold  your  pony,  and  Felix  stood  back  timid,  why  did  you 
beckon  to  him,  and  say  you  would  rather  he  held  it  ? ' 

'  O  Mrs.  Jethway,  you  do  think  so  mistakenly !  I 
liked  him  best — that's  why  I  wanted  him  to  do  it.  He 
was  gentle  and  nice — I  always  thought  him  so — and  I 
liked  him.' 

322 


A  PAIR   OF  BLUE  EYES 

*  Then  why  did  you  let  him  kiss  you  ? ' 

'  It  is  a  falsehood ;  oh,  it  is,  it  is ! '  said  Elfride, 
weeping  with  desperation.  '  He  came  behind  me,  and 
attempted  to  kiss  me;  and  that  was  why  I  told  him 
never  to  let  me  see  him  again.' 

'  But  you  did  not  tell  your  father  or  anybody,  as  you 
would  have  if  you  had  looked  upon  it  then  as  the  insult 
you  now  pretend  it  was.' 

'  He  begged  me  not  to  tell,  and  foolishly  enough  I 
did  not.  And  I  wish  I  had  now.  I  little  expected  to 
be  scourged  with  my  own  kindness.  Pray  leave  me, 
Mrs.  Jethway.'     The  girl  only  expostulated  now. 

'  Well,  you  harshly  dismissed  him,  and  he  died. 
And  before  his  body  was  cold,  you  took  another  to 
your  heart.  Then  as  carelessly  sent  him  about  his 
business,  and  took  a  third.  And  if  you  consider 
that  nothing.  Miss  Swancourt,'  she  continued,  drawing 
closer ;  '  it  led  on  to  what  was  very  serious  indeed. 
Have  you  forgotten  the  would-be  runaway  marriage? 
The  journey  to  London,  and  the  return  the  next  day 
without  being  married,  and  that  there's  enough  disgrace 
in  that  to  ruin  a  woman's  good  name  far  less  light  than 
yours  ?  You  may  have  :  I  have  not.  Fickleness  towards 
a  lover  is  bad,  but  fickleness  after  playing  the  wife  is 
wantonness.' 

'Oh,  it's  a  wicked  cruel  lie!  Do  not  say  it;  oh, 
do  not ! ' 

'  Does  your  new  man  know  of  it  ?  I  think  not,  or 
he  would  be  no  man  of  yours !  As  much  of  the  story 
as  was  known  is  creeping  about  the  neighbourhood 
even  now ;  but  I  know  more  than  any  of  them,  and  why 
should  I  respect  your  love  ?  ' 

'  I  defy  you  ! '  cried  Elfride  tempestuously.  '  Do 
and  say  all  you  can  to  ruin  me;  try;  put  your  tongue 
at  work;  I  invite  it!  I  defy  you  as  a  slanderous 
woman!  Look,  there  he  comes.'  And  her  voice 
trembled  greatly  as  she  saw  through  the  leaves  the 
323 


/<^f>\^ 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

beloved  form  of  Knight  coming  from  the  door  with  her 
hat  in  his  hand.     '  Tell  him  at  once ;  I  can  bear  it.' 

'  Not  now,'  said  the  woman,  and  disappeared  down 
the  path. 

The  excitement  of  her  latter  words  had  restored 
colour  to  Elfride's  cheeks ;  and  hastily  wiping  her  eyes, 
she  walked  farther  on,  so  that  by  the  time  her  lover 
had  overtaken  her  the  traces  of  emotion  had  nearly 
disappeared  from  her  face.  Knight  put  the  hat  upon 
her  head,  took  her  hand,  and  drew  it  within  his  arm. 

It  was  the  last  day  but  one  previous  to  their  depar- 
ture for  St.  Leonards ;  and  Knight  seemed  to  have  a 
purpose  in  being  much  in  her  company  that  day.  They 
rambled  along  the  valley.  The  season  was  that  period 
in  the  autumn  when  the  foliage  alone  of  an  ordinary 
plantation  is  rich  enough  in  hues  to  exhaust  the  chro- 
matic combinations  of  an  artist's  palette.  Most  lustrous 
of  all  are  the  beeches,  graduating  from  bright  rusty  red 
at  the  extremity  of  the  boughs  to  a  bright  yellow  at 
their  inner  parts ;  young  oaks  are  still  of  a  neutral 
green ;  Scotch  firs  and  hollies  are  nearly  blue ;  whilst 
occasional  dottings  of  other  varieties  give  maroons  and 
purples  of  every  tinge. 

The  river — such  as  it  was — here  pursued  its  course 
amid  flagstones  as  level  as  a  pavement,  but  divided  by 
crevices  of  irregular  width.  With  the  summer  drought 
the  torrent  had  narrowed  till  it  was  now  but  a  thread  of 
crystal  clearness,  meandering  along  a  central  channel  in 
the  rocky  bed  of  the  winter  current.  Knight  scrambled 
through  the  bushes  which  at  this  point  nearly  covered 
the  brook  from  sight,  and  leapt  down  upon  the  dry 
portion  of  the  river  bottom. 

'  Elfride,  I  never  saw  such  a  sight ! '  he  exclaimed. 
*  The  hazels  overhang  the  river's  course  in  a  perfect  arch, 
and  the  floor  is  beautifully  paved.  The  place  reminds 
one  of  the  passages  of  a  cloister.  Let  me  help  you 
down.' 

324 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

He  assisted  her  through  the  marginal  underwood 
and  down  to  the  stones.  They  walked  on  together  to 
a  tiny  cascade  about  a  foot  wide  and  high,  and  sat 
down  beside  it  on  the  flags  that  for  nine  months  in 
the  year  were  submerged  beneath  a  gushing  bourne. 
From  their  feet  trickled  the  attenuated  thread  of  water 
which  alone  remained  to  tell  the  intent  and  reason  of 
this  leaf-covered  aisle,  and  journeyed  on  in  a  zigzag 
line  till  lost  in  the  shade. 

Knight,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  after  contemplating 
all  this,  looked  critically  at  Elfride. 

'  Does  not  such  a  luxuriant  head  of  hair  exhaust 
itself  and  get  thin  as  the  years  go  on  from  eighteen  to 
eight-and-twenty  ?  '  he  asked  at  length. 

'  Oh  no ! '  she  said  quickly,  with  a  visible  disinclina- 
tion to  harbour  such  a  thought,  which  came  upon  her 
with  an  unpleasantness  whose  force  it  would  be  difficult 
for  men  to  understand.  She  added  afterwards,  with 
smouldering  uneasiness,  '  Do  you  really  think  that  a 
great  abundance  of  hair  is  more  likely  to  get  thin  than 
a  moderate  quantity  ?  ' 

'Yes,  I  really  do.  I  believe — am  almost  sure,  in 
fact — that  if  statistics  could  be  obtained  on  the  subject, 
you  would  find  the  persons  with  thin  hair  were  those 
who  had  a  superabundance  originally,  and  that  those 
who  start  with  a  moderate  quantity  retain  it  without 
much  loss.' 

Elfride's  troubles  sat  upon  her  face  as  well  as  in  her 
heart.  Perhaps  to  a  woman  it  is  almost  as  dreadful  to 
think  of  losing  her  beauty  as  of  losing  her  reputation. 
At  any  rate,  she  looked  quite  as  gloomy  as  she  had 
looked  at  any  minute  that  day. 

'  You  shouldn't  be  so  troubled  about  a  mere  personal 
adornment,'  said  Knight,  with  some  of  the  severity  of 
tone  that  had  been  customary  before  she  had  beguiled 
him  into  softness. 

*  I  think  it  is  a  woman's  duty  to  be  as  beautiful  as 

325 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

she  can.  If  I  were  a  scholar,  I  would  give  you  chapter 
and  verse  for  it  from  one  of  your  own  Latin  authors. 
I  know  there  is  such  a  passage,  for  papa  has  alluded 
to  it.' 

'  "  Munditise,  et  ornatus,  et  cultus,"  &c. — is  that  it  ? 
A  passage  in  Livy  which  is  no  defence  at  all.' 

*  No,  it  is  not  that' 

'  Never  mind,  then ;  for  I  have  a  reason  for  not 
taking  up  my  old  cudgels  against  you,  Elfie.  Can  you 
guess  what  the  reason  is  ? ' 

'  No ;  but  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,'  she  said  thankfully. 
'  For  it  is  dreadful  when  you  talk  so.  For  whatever 
dreadful  name  the  weakness  may  deserve,  I  must 
candidly  own  that  I  am  terrified  to  think  my  hair  may 
ever  get  thin.' 

*  Of  course ;  a  sensible  woman  would  rather  lose  her 
wits  than  her  beauty.' 

'  I  don't  care  if  you  do  say  satire  and  judge  me 
cruelly.  I  know  my  hair  is  beautiful;  everybody 
says  so.' 

'  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Swancourt,'  he  tenderly  replied, 
*  I  have  not  said  anything  against  it.  But  you  know 
what  is  said  about  handsome  being  and  handsome 
doing.' 

*  Poor  Miss  Handsome-does  cuts  but  a  sorry  figure 
beside  Miss  Handsome-is  in  every  man's  eyes,  your 
own  not  excepted,  Mr.  Knight,  though  it  pleases  you 
to  throw  off  so,'  said  Elfride  saucily.  And  lowering  her 
voice :  '  You  ought  not  to  have  taken  so  much  trouble 
to  save  me  from  falling  over  the  cliff,  for  you  don't 
think  mine  a  Ufe  worth  much  trouble  evidently.' 

'  Perhaps  you  think  mine  was  not  worth  yours.' 

'  It  was  worth  anybody's  ! ' 

Her  hand  was  plashing  in  the  little  waterfall,  and 
her  eyes  were  bent  the  same  way. 

'  You  talk  about  my  severity  with  you,  Elfride.     You 
are  unkind  to  me,  you  know.' 
32^ 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  How  ?  '  she  asked,  looking  up  from  her  idle  occupa- 
tion. 

•After  my  taking  trouble  to  get  jewellery  to  please 
you,  you  wouldn't  accept  it.' 

'  Perhaps  I  would  now ;  perhaps  I  want  to.' 

'  Do  ! '  said  Knight. 

And  the  packet  was  withdrawn  from  his  pocket  and 
presented  the  third  time.  Elfride  took  it  with  delight. 
The  obstacle  was  rent  in  twain,  and  the;  significant  gift 
was  hers. 

'  I'll  take  out  these  ugly  ones  at  once,'  she  exclaimed, 
'  and  I'll  wear  yours — shall  I  ? ' 

'  I  should  be  gratified.' 

Now,  though  it  may  seem  unlikely,  considering  how 
far  the  two  had  gone  in  converse.  Knight  had  never 
yet  ventured  to  kiss  Elfride.  Far  slower  was  he  than 
Stephen  Smith  in  matters  like  that.  The  utmost  ad- 
vance he  had  made  in  such  demonstrations  had  been 
to  the  degree  witnessed  by  Stephen  in  the  summer- 
house.  So  Elfride's  cheek  being  still  forbidden  fruit  to 
him,  he  said  impulsively. 

'  Elfie,  I  should  like  to  touch  that  seductive  ear  of 
yours.  Those  are  my  gifts ;  so  let  me  dress  you  in 
them.' 

She  hesitated  with  a  stimulating  hesitation. 

'  Let  me  put  just  one  in  its  place,  then  ? ' 

Her  face  grew  much  warmer. 

'  I  don't  think  it  would  be  quite  the  usual  or  proper 
course,'  she  said,  suddenly  turning  and  resuming  her 
operation  of  plashing  in  the  miniature  cataract. 

The  stillness  of  things  was  disturbed  by  a  bird  com- 
ing to  the  streamlet  to  drink.  After  watching  him  dip 
his  bill,  sprinkle  himself,  and  fly  into  a  tree,  Knight 
replied,  with  the  courteous  brusqueness  she  so  much 
liked  to  hear — 

•  Elfride,  now  you  may  as  well  be  fair.  You  would  mind 
my  doing  it  but  little,  I  think ;  so  give  me  leave,  do.' 

327 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

'  I  will  be  fair,  then,'  she  said  confidingly,  and  look- 
ing him  full  in  the  face.  It  was  a  particular  pleasure 
to  her  to  be  able  to  do  a  little  honesty  without  fear. 
'  I  should  not  mind  your  doing  so — I  should  like  such 
an  attention.  My  thought  was,  would  it  be  right  to 
let  you  ? ' 

'  Then  I  will ! '  he  rejoined,  with  that  singular 
earnestness  about  a  small  matter — in  the  eyes  of  a 
ladies'  man  but  a  momentary  peg  for  flirtation  or  jest 
— which  is  only  found  in  deep  natures  who  have  been 
wholly  unused  to  toying  with  womankind,  and  which, 
from  its  unwontedness,  is  in  itself  a  tribute  the  most 
precious  that  can  be  rendered,  and  homage  the  most 
exquisite  to  be  received. 

'  And  you  shall,'  she  whispered,  without  reserve,  and 
no  longer  mistress  of  the  ceremonies.  And  then  Elfride 
inclined  herself  towards  him,  thrust  back  her  hair,  and 
poised  her  head  sideways.  In  doing  this  her  arm  and 
shoulder  necessarily  rested  against  his  breast. 

At  the  touch,  the  sensation  of  both  seemed  to  be 
concentrated  at  the  point  of  contact.  All  the  time  he 
was  performing  the  delicate  manoeuvre  Knight  trembled 
like  a  young  surgeon  in  his  first  operation. 

*  Now  the  other,'  said  Knight  in  a  whisper. 
'  No,  no.' 

'  Why  not  ?  ' 

*  I  don't  know  exactly.' 

*  You  must  know.' 

'  Your  touch  agitates  me  so.     Let  us  go  home.' 

'  Don't  say  that,  Elfride.  What  is  it,  after  all  ?  A 
mere  nothing.      Now  turn  round,  dearest.' 

She  was  powerless  to  disobey,  and  turned  forthwith ; 
and  then,  without  any  defined  intention  in  cither's  mind, 
his  face  and  hers  drew  closer  together;  and  he  sup- 
ported her  there,  and  kissed  her. 

Knight  was  at  once  the  most  ardent  and  the  coolest 
man  alive.     When  his  emotions  slumbered  he  appeared 
328 

I 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

almost  phlegmatic ;  when  they  were  moved  he  was  no 
less  than  passionate.  And  now,  without  having  quite 
intended  an  early  marriage,  he  put  the  question  plainly. 
It  came  with  all  the  ardour  which  was  the  accumulation 
of  long  years  behind  a  natural  reserve. 

'  Elfride,  when  shall  we  be  married  ?  ' 

The  words  were  sweet  to  her;  but  there  was  a  bitter 
in  the  sweet.  These  newly-overt  acts  of  his,  which  had 
culminated  in  this  plain  question,  coming  on  the  very 
day  of  Mrs.  Jethway's  blasting  reproaches,  painted  dis- 
tinctly her  fickleness  as  an  enormity.  Loving  him  in 
secret  had  not  seemed  such  thorough-going  inconstancy 
as  the  same  love  recognized  and  acted  upon  in  the  face 
of  threats.  Her  distraction  was  interpreted  by  him  at  her 
side  as  the  outward  signs  of  an  unwonted  experience. 

*  I  don't  press  you  for  an  answer  now,  darling,'  he  said, 
seeing  she  was  not  likely  to  give  a  lucid  reply.  '  Take 
your  time.' 

Knight  was  as  honourable  a  man  as  was  ever  loved 
and  deluded  by  woman.  It  may  be  said  that  his  blind- 
ness in  love  proved  the  point,  for  shrewdness  in  love 
usually  goes  with  meanness  in  general.  Once  the  passion 
had  mastered  him,  the  intellect  had  gone  for  naught. 
Knight,  as  a  lover,  was  more  single-minded  and  far 
simpler  than  his  friend  Stephen,  who  in  other  capa- 
cities was  shallow  beside  him. 

Without  saying  more  on  the  subject  of  their  marriage, 
Knight  held  her  at  arm's  length,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
large  bouquet,  and  looked  at  her  with  critical  affection. 

'  Does  your  pretty  gift  become  me  ? '  she  inquired, 
with  tears  of  excitement  on  the  fringes  of  her  eyes. 

*  Undoubtedly,  perfectly ! '  said  her  lover,  adopting 
a  lighter  tone  to  put  her  at  her  ease.  '  Ah,  you  should 
see  them ;  you  look  shinier  than  ever.  Fancy  that  I 
have  been  able  to  improve  you  ! ' 

*  Am  I  really  so  nice  ?  I  am  glad  for  your  sake.  I 
wish  I  could  see  myself.' 

Y  329 


A   PAIR   BLUE   OF   EYES 

*  You  can't.     You  must  wait  till  we  get  home.' 

*  I  shall  never  be  able,'  she  said,  laughing.  *  Look  -. 
here's  a  way.' 

<  So  there  is.     Well  done,  woman's  wit ! ' 

*  Hold  me  steady  ! ' 

*  Oh  yes.' 

*  And  don't  let  me  fall,  will  you  ? ' 

*  By  no  means.' 

Below  their  seat  the  thread  of  water  paused  to 
spread  out  into  a  smooth  small  pool.  Knight  sup- 
ported her  whilst  she  knelt  down  and  leant  over  it. 

'  I  can  see  myself.  Really,  try  as  religiously  as  I 
will,  I  cannot  help  admiring  my  appearance  in  them.' 

'  Doubtless.  How  can  you  be  so  fond  of  finery  ? 
I  believe  you  are  corrupting  me  into  a  taste  for  it. 
I  used  to  hate  every  such  thing  before  I  knew  you.' 

'  I  like  ornaments,  because  I  want  people  to  admire 
what  you  possess,  and  envy  you,  and  say,  "  I  wish  I 
was  he." ' 

'  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  object  after  that.  And 
how  much  longer  are  you  going  to  look  in  there  at 
yourself? ' 

'  Until  you  are  tired  of  holding  me  ?  Oh,  I  want 
to  ask  you  something.'  And  she  turned  round.  '  Now 
tell  truly,  won't  you?  What  colour  of  hair  do  you 
like  best  now  ? ' 

Knight  did  not  answer  at  the  moment. 

*  Say  light,  do  ! '  she  whispered  coaxingly.  *  Don't 
say  dark,  as  you  did  that  time.' 

'  Light-brown,  then.  Exactly  the  colour  of  my  sweet- 
heart's.' 

'  Really  ? '  said  Elfride,  enjoying  as  truth  what  she 
knew  to  be  flattery. 

'  Yes.' 

*  And  blue  eyes,  too,  not  hazel  ?     Say  yes,  say  yes  ! ' 

*  One  recantation  is  enough  for  to-day.' 

*  No,  no.' 

330 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*Very  well,  blue  eyes.'  And  Knight  laughed,  and 
drew  her  close  and  kissed  her  the  second  time,  which 
operations  he  performed  with  the  carefulness  of  a 
fruiterer  touching  a  bunch  of  grapes  so  as  not  to 
disturb  their  bloom. 

Elfride  objected  to  a  second,  and  flung  away  her 
face,  the  movement  causing  a  slight  disarrangement  of 
hat  and  hair.  Hardly  thinking  what  she  said  in  the 
trepidation  of  the  moment,  she  exclaimed,  clapping 
her  hand  to  her  ear — 

'  Ah,  we  must  be  careful !  I  lost  the  other  earring 
doing  like  this.' 

No  sooner  did  she  realise  the  significant  words  than 
a  troubled  look  passed  across  her  face,  and  she  shut 
her  lips  as  if  to  keep  them  back. 

'  Doing  like  what  ? '  said  Knight,  perplexed. 

*  Oh,  sitting  down  out  of  doors,'  she  repUed  hastily. 


XXIX 

'  Care,  thou  canker.' 

It  is  an  evening  at  the  beginning  of  October,  and  the 
mellowest  of  autumn  sunsets  irradiates  London,  even 
to  its  uttermost  eastern  end.  Between  the  eye  and 
the  flaming  West,  columns  of  smoke  stand  up  in  the 
still  air  like  tall  trees.  Everything  in  the  shade  is  rich 
and  misty  blue. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swancourt  and  Elfride  are  looking 
at  these  lustrous  and  lurid  contrasts  from  the  window 
of  a  large  hotel  near  London  Bridge.  The  visit  to 
their  friends  at  St.  Leonards  is  over,  and  they  are 
staying  a  day  or  two  in  the  metropolis  on  their  way 
home. 

Knight  spent  the  same  interval  of  time  in  crossing 
over  to  Brittany  by  way  of  Jersey  and  St.  Malo.  He 
then  passed  through  Normandy,  and  returned  to 
London  also,  his  arrival  there  having  been  two  days 
later  than  that  of  Elfride  and  her  parents. 

So  the  evening  of  this  October  day  saw  them  all 
meeting  at  the  above-mentioned  hotel,  where  they  had 
previously  engaged  apartments.  During  the  afternoon 
Knight  had  been  to  his  lodgings  at  Richmond  to  make 
a  Uttle  change  in  the  nature  of  his  baggage;  and  on 
332 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

coming  up  again  there  was  never  ushered  by  a  bland 
waiter  into  a  comfortable  room  a  happier  man  than 
Knight  when  shown  to  where  Elfride  and  her  step- 
mother were  sitting  after  a  fatiguing  day  of  shopping. 

Elfride  looked  none  the  better  for  her  change: 
Knight  was  as  brown  as  a  nut.  They  were  soon 
engaged  by  themselves  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Now 
that  the  precious  words  of  promise  had  been  spoken, 
the  young  girl  had  no  idea  of  keeping  up  her  price  by 
the  system  of  reserve  which  other  more  accomplished 
maidens  use.  Her  lover  was  with  her  again,  and  it 
was  enough :  she  made  her  heart  over  to  him  entirely. 

Dinner  was  soon  despatched.  And  when  a  prelimi- 
nary round  of  conversation  concerning  their  doings 
since  the  last  parting  had  been  concluded,  they  reverted 
to  the  subject  of  to-morrow's  journey  home. 

*  That  enervating  ride  through  the  myrtle  climate  of 
South  Devon — how  I  dread  it  to-morrow ! '  Mrs.  Swan- 
court  was  saying.  '  I  had  hoped  the  weather  would 
have  been  cooler  by  this  time.' 

*  Did  you  ever  go  by  water? '  said  Knight. 

*  Never — by  never,  I  mean  not  since  the  time  of 
railways.' 

*  Then  if  you  can  afford  an  additional  day,  I  pro- 
pose that  we  do  it,'  said  Knight.  '  The  Channel  is  like 
a  lake  just  now.  We  should  reach  Plymouth  in  about 
forty  hours,  I  think,  and  the  boats  start  from  just  below 
the  bridge  here '  (pointing  over  his  shoulder  eastward). 

.  *  Hear,  hear  ! '  said  the  vicar. 

*  It's  an  idea,  certainly,'  said  his  wife. 

<  Of  course  these  coasters  are  rather  tubby,'  said 
Knight.     '  But  you  wouldn't  mind  that  ? ' 

'  No  :  we  wouldn't  mind.' 

'  And  the  saloon  is  a  place  like  the  fishmarket  of  a 
ninth-rate  country  town,  but  that  wouldn't  matter  ? ' 

'  Oh  dear,  no.  If  we  had  only  thought  of  it  soon 
enough,  we  might  have  had  the  use  of  Lord  Luxellian's 
333 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

yacht.  But  never  mind,  we'll  go.  We  shall  escape  the 
worrying  rattle  through  the  whole  length  of  London  to- 
morrow morning — not  to  mention  the  risk  of  being 
killed  by  excursion  trains,  which  is  not  a  little  one  at 
this  time  of  the  year,  if  the  papers  are  true.' 

Elfride,  too,  thought  the  arrangement  delightful ;  and 
accordingly,  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning  saw  two 
cabs  crawling  round  by  the  Mint,  and  between  the 
preternaturally  high  walls  of  Nightingale  Lane  towards 
the  river  side. 

The  first  vehicle  was  occupied  by  the  travellers  in 
person,  and  the  second  brought  up  the  luggage,  under 
the  supervision  of  Mrs.  Snewson,  Mrs.  Swancourt's  maid 
— and  for  the  last  fortnight  Elfride's  also  ;  for  although 
the  younger  lady  had  never  been  accustomed  to  any 
such  attendant  at  robing  times,  her  stepnfother  forced 
her  into  a  semblance  of  familiarity  with  one  when  they 
were  away  from  home. 

Presently  waggons,  bales,  and  smells  of  all  descrip- 
tions increased  to  such  an  extent  that  tha  advance  of 
the  cabs  was  at  the  slowest  possible  rate.  At  intervals 
it  was  necessary  to  halt  entirely,  that  the  heavy  vehicles 
unloading  in  front  might  be  moved  aside,  a  feat  which 
was  not  accomplished  without  a  deal  of  swearing  and 
noise.     The  vicar  put  his  head  out  of  the  window. 

'  Surely  there  must  be  some  ^mistake  in  the  ^ay,'  he 
said  with  great  concern,  drawing  in  his  head  agaifl. 
'  There's  not  a  respectable  conveyance  to  be  seen  here 
except  ours.  I've  heard  that  there .  are  strange  dens 
in  this  part  of  London,  into  which  ^people  have  been 
entrapped  and  murdered — surely  there  is  no  conspiracy 
on  the  part  of  the  cabman  ? ' 

*  Oh  no,  no.  It  is  all  right,'  said  Mr.  Knight,  who 
was  as  placid  as  dewy  eve  by  the  side  of  Elfride. 

<  But  what  I  argue  from,'  said  the  vicar,  with  a 
greater  emphasis  of  uneasiness,  '  are  plain  appearances. 
This  can't  be  the  highway  from  London  to  Plymouth 
334 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

by  water,  because  it  is  no  way  at  all  to  any  place.  We 
shall  miss  our  steamer  and  our  train  too — that's  what 
I  think.' 

*  Depend  upon  it  we  are  right.     In  fact,  here  we  are.' 

*  Trimmer's  Wharf,'  said  the  cabman,  opening  the 
door. 

No  sooner  had  they  alighted  than  they  perceived  a 
tussle  going  on  between  the  hindmost  cabman  and  a 
crowd  of  light  porters  who  had  charged  him  in  column, 
to  obtain  possession  of  the  bags  and  boxes,  Mrs. 
Snewson's  hands  being  seen  stretched  towards  heaven 
in  the  midst  of  the  mel^e.  Knight  advanced  gallantly, 
and  after  a  hard  struggle  reduced  the  crowd  to  two, 
upon  whose  shoulders  and  trucks  the  goods  vanished 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  water's  edge  with  startling 
rapidity. 

Then  more  of  the  same  tribe,  who  had  run  on  ahead, 
were  heard  shouting  to  boatmen,  three  of  whom  pulled 
alongside,  and  two  being  vanquished,  the  luggage  went 
tumbling  into  the  remaining  one. 

'  Never  saw  such  a  dreadful  scene  in  my  life — 
never ! '  said  Mr.  Swancourt,  floundering  into  the  boat. 
'  Worse  than  Famine  and  Sword  upon  one.  I  thought 
such  customs  were  confined  to  continental  ports.  Aren't 
you  astonished,  Elfride  ? ' 

*  Oh  no,'  said  Elfride,  appearing  amid  the  dingy 
scene  like  a  rainbow  in  a  murky  sky.  '  It  is  a  pleasant 
novelty,  I  think.' 

'  Where  in  the  wide  ocean  is  our  steamer  ? '  the 
vicar  inquired.  *  I  can  see  nothing  but  old  hulks,  for 
the  life  of  me.' 

'  Just  behind  that  one,'  said  Knight ;  *  we  shall  soon 
be  round  under  her.' 

The  object  of  their  search  was  soon  after  disclosed 

to   view — a   great   lumbering  form   of  inky   blackness, 

which  looked  as  if  it  had  never  known  the  touch  of  a 

paint-brush   for  fifty  years.     It  was  lying  beside  just 

335 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

such  another,  and  the  way  on  board  was  down  a  narrow 
lane  of  water  between  the  two,  about  a  yard  and  a  half 
wide  at  one  end,  and  gradually  converging  to  a  point. 
At  the  moment  of  their  entry  into  this  narrow  passage, 
a  brilliantly  painted  rival  paddled  down  the  river  like 
a  trotting  steed,  creating  such  a  series  of  waves  and 
splashes  that  their  frail  wherry  was  tossed  like  a  teacup, 
and  the  vicar  and  his  wife  slanted  this  way  and  that, 
inclining  their  heads  into  contact  with  a  Punch-and- 
Judy  air  and  countenance,  the  wavelets  striking  the 
sides  of  the  two  hulls,  and  flapping  back  into  their 
laps. 

*  Dreadful !  horrible  ! '  Mr.  Swancourt  murmured 
privately ;  and  said  aloud,  '  I  thought  we  walked  on 
board.  I  don't  think  really  I  should  have  come,  if  I 
had  known  this  trouble  was  attached  to  it.' 

*  If  they  must  splash,  I  wish  they  would  splash  us 
with  clean  water,'  said  the  old  lady,  wiping  her  dress 
with  her  handkerchief. 

'  I  hope  it  is  perfectly  safe,'  continued  the  vicar. 

'  O  papa !  you  are  not  very  brave,'  cried  Elfride 
merrily. 

'  Bravery  is  only  obtuseness  to  the  perception  of 
contingencies,'  Mr.  Swancourt  severely  answered. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  laughed,  and  Elfride  laughed,  and 
Knight  laughed,  in  the  midst  of  which  pleasantness  a 
man  shouted  to  them  from  some  position  between  their 
heads  and  the  sky,  and  they  found  they  were  close  to 
the  Juliet,  into  which  they  quiveringly  ascended. 

It  having  been  found  that  the  lowness  of  the  tide 
would  prevent  their  getting  off  for  an  hour,  the  Swan- 
courts,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  allowed  their  eyes  to 
idle  upon  men  in  blue  jerseys  performing  mysterious 
mending  operations  with  tar-twine ;  they  turned  to  look 
at  the  dashes  of  lurid  sunlight,  like  burnished  copper 
stars  afloat  on  the  ripples,  which  danced  into  and  tan- 
talized their  vision ;  or  listened  to  the  loud  music  of  a 
336 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

steam-crane  at  work  close  by;  or  to  sighing  sounds 
from  the  funnels  of  passing  steamers,  getting  dead  as 
they  grew  more  distant ;  or  to  shouts  from  the  decks 
of  different  craft  in  their  vicinity,  all  of  them  assuming 
the  form  of  '  Ah-he-hay  ! ' 

Half-past  ten  :  not  yet  off.  Mr.  Swancourt  breathed 
a  breath  of  weariness,  and  looked  at  his  fellow-travellers 
in  general.  Their  faces  were  certainly  not  worth  looking 
at.  The  expression  '  Waiting '  was  written  upon  them 
so  absolutely  that  nothing  more  could  be  discerned 
there.  All  animation  was  suspended  till  Providence 
should  raise  the  water  and  let  them  go. 

'  I  have  been  thinking,'  said  Knight,  '  that  we  have 
come  amongst  the  rarest  class  of  people  in  the  kingdom. 
Of  all  human  characteristics,  a  low  opinion  of  the  value 
of  his  own  time  by  an  individual  must  be  among  the 
strangest  to  find.  Here  we  see  numbers  of  that  patient 
and  happy  species.     Rovers,  as  distinct  from  travellers.' 

'  But  they  are  pleasure-seekers,  to  whom  time  is  of 
no  importance.' 

*  Oh  no.  The  pleasure-seekers  we  meet  on  the 
grand  routes  are  more  anxious  than  commercial 
travellers  to  rush  on.  And  added  to  the  loss  of  time 
in  getting  to  their  journey's  end,  these  exceptional 
people  take  their  chance  of  sea-sickness  by  coming  this 
way.' 

'  Can  it  be  ?  '  inquired  the  vicar  with  apprehension. 
*  Surely  not,  Mr.  Knight,  just  here  in  our  English 
Channel — close  at  our  doors,  as  I  may  say.' 

'  Entrance  passages  are  very  draughty  places,  and  the 
Channel  is  like  the  rest.  It  ruins  the  temper  of  sailors. 
It  has  been  calculated  by  philosophers  that  more  damns 
go  up  to  heaven  from  the  Channel,  in  the  course  of  a 
year,  than  from  all  the  five  oceans  put  together.' 

They  really  start  now,  and  the  dead  looks  of  all  the 
throng  come  to  life  immediately.  The  man  who  has 
been  frantically  hauling  in  a  rope  that  bade  fair  to  have 
337  Y 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

no  end  ceases  his  labours,  and  they  gUde  down  the 
serpentine  bends  of  the  Thames. 

Anything  anywhere  was  a  mine  of  interest  to  Elfride, 
and  so  was  this. 

'  It  is  well  enough  now,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt,  after 
they  had  passed  the  Nore,  '  but  I  can't  say  I  have  cared 
for  my  voyage  hitherto.'  For  being  now  in  the  open 
sea  a  slight  breeze  had  sprung  up,  which  cheered  her 
as  well  as  her  two  younger  companions.  But  unfortu- 
nately it  had  a  reverse  effect  upon  the  vicar,  who,  after 
turning  a  sort  of  apricot-jam  colour,  interspersed  with 
dashes  of  raspberry,  pleaded  indisposition,  and  vanished 
from  their  sight. 

The  afternoon  wore  on.  Mrs.  Swancourt  kindly  sat 
apart  by  herself  reading,  and  the  betrothed  pair  were 
left  to  themselves.  Elfride  clung  trustingly  to  Knight's 
arm,  and  proud  was  she  to  walk  with  him  up  and  down 
the  deck,  or  to  go  forward,  and  leaning  with  him  against 
the  forecastle  rails,  watch  the  setting  sun  gradually 
withdrawing  itself  over  their  stern  into  a  huge  bank  of 
livid  cloud  with  golden  edges  that  rose  to  meet  it. 

She  was  childishly  full  of  life  and  spirits,  though 
in  walking  up  and  down  with  him  before  the  other 
passengers,  and  getting  noticed  by  them,  she  was  at 
starting  rather  confused,  it  being  the  first  time  she  had 
shown  herself  so  openly  under  that  kind  of  protection. 
'  I  expect  they  are  envious  and  saying  things  about 
us,  don't  you  ? '  she  would  whisper  to  Knight  with  a 
stealthy  smile. 

*  Oh  no,'  he  would  answer  unconcernedly.  '  Why 
should  they  envy  us,  and  what  can  they  say  ? ' 

*  Not  any  harm,  of  course,'  Elfride  replied,  '  except 
such  as  this  :  "  How  happy  those  two  are  !  she  is  proud 
enough  now."  What  makes  it  worse,'  she  continued  in 
the  extremity  of  confidence,  '  I  heard  those  two  cricket- 
ing men  say  just  now,  "  She's  the  nobbiest  girl  on  the 
boat."     But  I  don't  mind  it,  you  know,  Harry.' 

338 


A  PAIR   OB  BLUE   EYES 

*  I  should  hardly  have  supposed  you  did,  even  if  you 
had  not  told  me,'  said  Knight  with  great  blandness. 

She  was  never  tired  of  asking  her  lover  questions 
and  admiring  his  answers,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent  as 
they  might  be.  The  evening  grew  dark  and  night  came 
on,  and  lights  shone  upon  them  from  the  horizon  and 
from  the  sky. 

'  Now  look  there  ahead  of  us,  at  that  halo  in  the  air, 
of  silvery  brightness.  Watch  it,  and  you  will  see  what 
it  comes  to.' 

She  watched  for  a  few  minutes,  when  two  white 
lights  emerged  from  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  showed 
themselves  to  be  the  origin  of  the  halo. 

*  What  a  dazzling  brilliance  !     What  do  they  mark  ?  ' 
'  The  South  Foreland  :  they  were  previously  covered 

by  the  cliff.' 

*  \Vhat  is  that  level  line  of  little  sparkles — a  town,  I 
suppose  ? ' 

'  That's  Dover.' 

All  this  time,  and  later,  soft  sheet  lightning  expanded 
from  a  cloud  in  their  path,  enkindling  their  faces  as 
they  paced  up  and  down,  shining  over  the  water,  and, 
for  a  moment,  showing  the  horizon  as  a  keen  line. 

Elfride  slept  soundly  that  night.  Her  first  thought 
the  next  morning  was  the  thrilling  one  that  Knight  was 
as  close  at  hand  as  when  they  were  at  home  at  En  del- 
stow,  and  her  first  sight,  on  looking  out  of  the  cabin 
window,  was  the  perpendicular  face  of  Beachy  Head, 
gleaming  white  in  a  brilliant  six-o'clock-in-the-morning 
sun.  This  fair  daybreak,  however,  soon  changed  its 
aspect.  A  cold  wind  and  a  pale  mist  descended  upon 
the  sea,  and  seemed  to  threaten  a  dreary  day. 

When  they  were  nearing  Southampton,  Mrs.  Swan- 
court  came  to  say  that  her  husband  was  so  ill  that  he 
wished  to  be  put  on  shore  here,  and  left  to  do  the 
remainder  of  the  journey  by  land.  '  He  will  be  per- 
fectly well  directly  he  treads  firm  ground  again.  Which 
339 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

shall  we  do — go  with  him,  or  finish  our  voyage  as  we 
intended  ? ' 

Elfride  was  comfortably  housed  under  an  umbrella 
which  Knight  was  holding  over  her  to  keep  off  the 
wind.  '  Oh,  don't  let  us  go  on  shore ! '  she  said  with 
dismay.     '  It  would  be  such  a  pity  ! ' 

*  That's  very  fine,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  archly,  as 
to  a  child.  '  See,  the  wind  has  increased  her  colour, 
the  sea  her  appetite  and  spirits,  and  somebody  her 
happiness.     Yes,  it  would  be  a  pity,  certainly.' 

*  'Tis  my  misfortune  to  be  always  spoken  to  from  a 
pedestal,'  sighed  Elfride. 

'  Well,  we  will  do  as  you  hke,  Mrs.  Swancourt,* 
said  Knight,  '  but ' 

'  I  myself  would  rather  remain  on  board,'  interrupted 
the  elder  lady.  '  And  Mr.  Swancourt  particularly  wishes 
to  go  by  himself.      So  that  shall  settle  the  matter.' 

The  vicar,  now  a  drab  colour,  was  put  ashore,  and 
became  as  well  as  ever  forthwith. 

Elfride,  sitting  alone  in  a  retired  part  of  the  vessel, 
saw  a  veiled  woman  walk  aboard  among  the  very  latest 
arrivals  at  this  port.  She  was  clothed  in  black  silk,  and 
carried  a  dark  shawl  upon  her  arm.  The  woman, 
without  looking  around  her,  turned  to  the  quarter 
allotted  to  the  second-cabin  passengers.  All  the  car- 
nation Mrs.  Swancourt  had  complimented  her  step- 
daughter upon  possessing  left  Elfride's  cheeks,  and 
she  trembled  visibly. 

She  ran  to  the  other  side  of  the  boat,  where  Mrs. 
Swancourt  was  standing. 

'  Let  us  go  home  by  railway  with  papa,  after  all,' 
she  pleaded  earnestly.  '  I  would  rather  go  with  him — 
shall  we  ? ' 

Mrs.  Swancourt  looked  around  for  a  moment,  as  if 
unable  to  decide.  '  Ah,'  she  exclaimed,  '  it  is  too  late 
now.  Why  did  not  you  say  so  before,  when  we  had 
plenty  of  time  ?  ' 


34P 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

The  Juliet  had  at  that  minute  let  go,  the  engines 
had  started,  and  they  were  gliding  slowly  away  from  the 
quay.  There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  remain,  unless 
the  Juliet  could  be  made  to  put  back,  and  that  would 
create  a  great  disturbance.  Elfride  gave  up  the  idea 
and  submitted  quietly.  Her  happiness  was  sadly 
mutilated  now. 

The  woman  whose  presence  had  so  disturbed  her 
was  exactly  Hke  Mrs.  Jethway.  She  seemed  to  haunt 
Elfride  like  a  shadow.  After  several  minutes'  vain  en- 
deavour to  account  for  any  design  Mrs.  Jethway  could 
have  in  watching  her,  Elfride  decided  to  think  that,  if 
it  were  the  widow,  the  encounter  was  accidental.  She 
remembered  that  the  widow  in  her  restlessness  was  often 
visiting  the  village  near  Southampton,  which  was  her 
original  home,  and  it  was  possible  that  she  chose  water- 
transit  with  the  idea  of  saving  expense. 

'  What  is  the  matter,  Elfride  ? '  Knight  inquired, 
standing  before  her. 

*  Nothing  more  than  that  I  am  rather  depressed.' 

*  I  don't  much  wonder  at  it ;  that  wharf  was  de- 
pressing. We  seemed  underneath  and  inferior  to  every- 
thing around  us.  But  we  shall  be  in  the  sea  breeze 
again  soon,  and  that  ^vill  freshen  you,  dear.' 

The  evening  closed  in  and  dusk  increased  as  they 
made  way  down  Southampton  Water  and  through  the 
Solent.  Elfride's  disturbance  of  mind  was  such  that 
her  light  spirits  of  the  foregoing  four  and  twenty  hours 
had  entirely  deserted  her.  The  weather  too  had  grown 
more  gloomy,  for  though  the  showers  of  the  morning 
had  ceased,  the  sky  was  covered  more  closely  than  ever 
with  dense  leaden  clouds.  How  beautiful  was  the  sunset 
when  they  rounded  the  North  Foreland  the  previous 
evening !  now  it  was  impossible  to  tell  within  half  an  | 
hour  the  time  of  the  luminary's  going  down.  Knight 
led  her  about,  and  being  by  this  time  accustomed  to 
her  sudden  changes  of  mood,  overlooked  the  necessity 
341 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

of  a  cause  in  regarding  the  conditions — impressionable- 
ness  and  elasticity. 

Elfride  looked  stealthily  to  the  other  end  of  the 
vessel.  Mrs.  Jethway,  or  her  double,  was  sitting  at 
the  stern — her  eye  steadily  regarding  Elfride. 

*  Let  us  go  to  the  forepart,'  she  said  quickly  to 
Knight.  *  See  there — the  man  is  fixing  the  lights  for 
the  night.' 

Knight  assented,  and  after  watching  the  operation 
of  fixing  the  red  and  the  green  lights  on  the  port  and 
starboard  bows,  and  the  hoisting  of  the  white  light  to 
the  masthead,  he  walked  up  and  down  with  her  till 
the  increase  of  wind  rendered  promenading  difficult. 
Elfride's  eyes  were  occasionally  to  be  found  furtively 
gazing  abaft,  to  learn  if  her  enemy  were  really  there. 
Nobody  was  visible  now. 

*  Shall  we  go  below  ? '  said  Knight,  seeing  that  the 
deck  was  nearly  deserted. 

*  No,'  she  said.  '  If  you  will  kindly  get  me  a  rug 
from  Mrs.  Swancourt,  I  should  like,  if  you  don't  mind, 
to  stay  here.'  She  had  recently  fancied  the  assumed 
Mrs.  Jethway  might  be  a  first-class  passenger,  and 
dreaded  meeting  her  by  accident. 

Knight  appeared  with  the  rug,  and  they  sat  down 
behind  a  weather-cloth  on  the  windward  side,  just  as 
the  two  red  eyes  of  the  Needles  glared  upon  them  from 
the  gloom,  their  pointed  summits  rising  like  shadowy 
phantom  figures  against  the  sky.  It  became  necessary 
to  go  below  to  an  eight-o'clock  meal  of  .londescript 
kind,  and  Elfride  was  immensely  relieved  at  finding  no 
sign  of  Mrs.  Jethway  there.  They  again  ascended,  and 
remained  above  till  Mrs.  Snewson  staggered  up  to  them 
with  the  message  that  Mrs.  Swancourt  thought  it  was 
time  for  Elfride  to  come  below.  Knight  accompanied 
her  down,  and  returned  again  to  pass  a  little  more 
time  on  deck. 

Elfride  partly  undressed  herself  and  lay  down,  and 
342 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

soon  became  unconscious,  though  her  sleep  was  light. 
How  long  she  had  lain,  she  knew  not,  when  by  slow 
degrees  she  became  cognizant  of  a  whispering  in  her  ear. 

*  You  are  well  on  with  him,  I  can  see.  Well,  provoke 
me  now,  but  my  day  will  come,  you  will  find.'  That 
seemed  to  be  the  utterance,  or  words  to  that  effect. 

Elfride  became  broad  awake  and  terrified.  She 
knew  the  words,  if  real,  could  be  only  those  of  one 
person,  and  that  person  the  widow  Jethway. 

The  lamp  had  gone  out  and  the  place  was  in  dark- 
ness. In  the  next  berth  she  could  hear  her  stepmother 
breathing  heavily,  further  on  Snewson  breathing  more 
heavily  still.  These  were  the  only  other  legitimate 
occupants  of  the  cabin,  and  Mrs.  Jethway  must  have 
stealthily  come  in  by  some  means  and  retreated  again, 
or  else  she  had  entered  an  empty  berth  next  Snewson's. 
The  fear  that  this  was  the  case  increased  Elfride's  per- 
turbation, till  it  assumed  the  dimensions  of  a  certainty, 
for  how  could  a  stranger  from  the  other  end  of  the  ship 
possibly  contrive  to  get  in?  Could  it  have  been  a 
dream  ? 

Elfride  raised  herself  higher  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  There  was  the  sea,  floundering  and  rushing 
against  the  ship's  side  just  by  her  head,  and  thence 
stretching  away,  dirn  and  moaning,  into  an  expanse  of 
indistinctness ;  and  far  beyond  all  this  two  placid  lights 
like  rayless  stars.  Now  almost  fearing  to  turn  her  face 
inwards  again,  lest  Mrs.  Jethway  should  appear  at  her 
elbow,  Elfride  meditated  upon  whether  to  call  Snewson 
to  keep  her  company.  '  Four  bells '  sounded,  and  she 
heard  voices,  which  gave  her  a  little  courage.  It  was 
not  worth  while  to  call  Snewson. 

At  any  rate  Elfride  could  not  stay  there  panting 
longer,  at  the  risk  of  being  again  disturbed  by  that 
dreadful  whispering.  So  wrapping  herself  up  hurriedly 
she  emerged  into  the  passage,  and  by  the  aid  of  a  faint 
light  burning  at  the  entrance  to  the  saloon  found  the 
343 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

foot  of  the  stairs,  and  ascended  to  the  deck.  Dreary 
the  place  was  in  the  extreme.  It  seemed  a  new  spot 
altogether  in  contrast  with  its  daytime  self.  She  could 
see  the  glowworm  light  from  the  binnacle,  and  the 
dim  outline  of  the  man  at  the  wheel ;  also  a  form  at 
the  bows.  Not  another  soul  was  apparent  from  stem 
to  stern. 

Yes,  there  were  two  more — by  the  bulwarks.  One 
proved  to  be  her  Harry,  the  other  the  mate.  She  was 
glad  indeed,  and  on  drawing  closer  found  they  were 
holding  a  low  slow  chat  about  nautical  affairs.  She 
ran  up  and  sUpped  her  hand  through  Knight's  arm, 
partly  for  love,  partly  for  stability. 

'  Elfie !  not  asleep  ? '  said  Knight,  after  moving  a 
few  steps  aside  with  her. 

'  No  :  I  cannot  sleep.  May  I  stay  here  ?  It  is  so 
dismal  down  there,  and — and  I  was  afraid.  Where  are 
we  now  ? ' 

*  Due  south  of  Portland  Bill.  Those  are  the  lights 
abeam  of  us :  look.  A  terrible  spot,  that,  on  a  stormy 
night.  And  do  you  see  a  very  small  light  that  dips 
and  rises  to  the  right  ?  That's  a  light-ship  on  the 
dangerous  shoal  called  the  Shambles,  where  many  a 
good  vessel  has  gone  to  pieces.  Between  it  and  our- 
selves is  the  Race — a  place  where  antagonistic  currents 
meet  and  form  whirlpools — a  spot  which  is  rough  in 
the  smoothest  weather,  and  terrific  in  a  wind.  That 
dark,  dreary  horizon  we  just  discern  to  the  left  is  the 
West  Bay,  terminated  landwards  by  the  Chesil  Beach.' 

'  What  time  is  it,  Harry  ? ' 

'  Just  past  two.' 

'  Are  you  going  below  ? ' 

'  Oh  no ;  not  to-night.     I  prefer  pure  air.' 

She  fancied  he  might  be  displeased  with  her  for 
coming  to  him  at  this  unearthly  hour.  '  I  should  like 
to  stay  here  too,  if  you  will  allow  me,'  she  said  timidly. 
'  I  want  to  ask  you  things.' 

344 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  Allow  you,  Elfie !  '  said  Knight,  putting  his  arm 
round  her  and  drawing  her  closer.  '  I  am  twice  as 
happy  with  you  by  my  side.  Yes :  we  will  stay,  and 
watch  the  approach  of  day.' 

So  they  again  sought  out  the  sheltered  nook,  and 
sitting  down  wrapped  themselves  in  the  rug  as  before. 

'  What  were  you  going  to  ask  me  ?  '  he  inquired,  as 
they  undulated  up  and  down. 

'  Oh,  it  was  not  much — perhaps  a  thing  I  ought  not 
to  ask,'  she  said  hesitatingly.  Her  sudden  wish  had 
really  been  to  discover  at  once  whether  he  had  ever 
before  been  engaged  to  be  married.  If  he  had,  she 
would  make  that  a  ground  for  telling  him  a  Httle  of  her 
conduct  with  Stephen.  Mrs.  Jethway's  seeming  words 
had  so  depressed  the  girl  that  she  herself  now  painted 
her  flight  in  the  darkest  colours,  and  longed  to  ease  her 
burdened  mind  by  an  instant  confession.  If  Knight 
had  ever  been  imprudent  himself,  he  might,  she  hoped, 
forgive  all. 

'  I  wanted  to  ask  you,'  she  went  on,  *  if — you  had  ever 
been  engaged  before.'  She  added  tremulously,  *  I  hope 
you  have — I  mean,  I  don't  mind  at  all  if  you  have.' 

*  No,  I  never  was,'  Knight  instantly  and  heartily  re- 
plied. '  Elfride  ' — and  there  was  a  certain  happy  pride  in 
his  tone — '  I  am  twelve  years  older  than  you,  and  I  have 
been  about  the  world,  and,  in  a  way,  into  society,  and 
you  have  not.  And  yet  I  am  not  so  unfit  for  you  as 
strict-thinking  people  might  imagine,  who  would  assume 
the  difference  in  age  to  signify  most  surely  an  equal 
addition  to  my  practice  in  love-making.' 

Elfride  shivered. 

'  You  are  cold — is  the  wind  too  much  for  you  ?  ' 
'  No,'  she  said  gloomily.  The  belief  which  had  been 
her  sheet-anchor  in  hoping  for  forgiveness  had  proved 
false.  This  account  of  the  exceptional  nature  of  his 
experience,  a  matter  which  would  have  set  her  rejoicing 
two  years  ago,  chilled  her  now  like  a  frost. 
2  345 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  You  don't  mind  my  asking  you  ?  '  she  continued. 

*  Oh  no — not  at  all.' 

*  And  have  you  never  kissed  many  ladies  ? '  she 
whispered,  hoping  he  would  say  a  hundred  at  the  least. 

The  time,  the  circumstances,  and  the  scene  were 
such  as  to  draw  confidences  from  the  most  reserved. 
*  Elfride,'  whispered  Knight  in  reply,  '  it  is  strange  you 
should  have  asked  that  question.  But  I'll  answer  it, 
though  I  have  never  told  such  a  thing  before.  I  have 
been  rather  absurd  in  my  avoidance  of  women.  I  have 
never  given  a  woman  a  kiss  in  my  life,  except  yourself 
and  my  mother.'  The  man  of  two  and  thirty  with  the 
experienced  mind  warmed  all  over  with  a  boy's  ingenu- 
ous shame  as  he  made  the  confession. 

*  What,  not  one  ?  '  she  faltered. 

*  No ;  not  one.' 

*  How  very  strange  ! ' 

'Yes,  the  reverse  experience  may  be  commoner. 
And  yet,  to  those  who  have  observed  their  own  sex, 
as  I  have,  my  case  is  not  remarkable.  Men  about 
town  are  women's  favourites — that's  the  postulate — and 
superficial  people  don't  think  far  enough  to  see  that 
there  may  be  reserved,  lonely  exceptions.' 

'  Are  you  proud  of  it,  Harry  ? ' 

*  No,  indeed.-  Of  late  years  I  have  wished  I  had 
gone  my  ways  and  trod  out  my  measure  like  fighter- 
hearted  men.  I  have  thought  of  how  many  happy  ex- 
periences I  may  have  lost  through  never  going  to  woo.' 

'  Then  why  did  you  hold  aloof?  ' 

*  I  cannot  say.  I  don't  think  it  was  my  nature  to  : 
circumstance  hindered  me,  perhaps.  I  have  regretted 
it  for  another  reason.  This  great  jremissness  of  mine 
has  had  its  effect  upon  me.  The  older  I  have  grown, 
the  more  distinctly  have  I  perceived  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely preventing  me  from  liking  any  woman  who  was 
not  as  unpractised  as  I ;  and  I  gave  up  the  expectation 
of  finding  a  nineteenth-century  young  lady  in  my  own 

346 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

raw  state.  Then  I  found  you,  Elfride,  and  I  felt  for 
the  first  time  that  my  fastidiousness  was  a  blessing. 
And  it  helped  to  make  me  worthy  of  you.  I  felt  at 
once  that,  differing  as  we  did  in  other  experiences,  in 
this  matter  I  resembled  you.  Well,  aren't  you  glad  to 
hear  it,  Elfride  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  I  am,'  she  answered  in  a  forced  voice.  *  But 
I  always  had  thought  that  men  made  lots  of  engage- 
ments before  they  married — especially  if  they  don't 
marry  very  young.' 

'  So  all  women  think,  I  suppose — and  rightly,  indeed, 
of  the  majority  of  bachelors,  as  I  said  before.  But  an 
appreciable  minority  of  slow-coach  men  do  not — and  it 
makes  them  very  awkward  when  they  do  come  to  the 
goint.     However,  it  didn't  matter  in  my  case.' 

*  Why  ?  '  she  asked  uneasily. 

*  Because  you  know  even  less  of  love-making  and 
matrimonial  prearrangement  than  I,  and  so  you  can't 
draw  invidious  comparisons  if  I  do  my  engaging  im- 
properly.' 

'  I  think  you  do  it  beautifully !  * 

'  Thank  you,  dear.  But,'  continued  Knight  laugh- 
ingly, '  your  opinion  is  not  that  of  an  expert,  which  alone 
is  of  value.' 

Had  she  answered,  *  Yes,  it  is,'  half  as  strongly  as 
she  felt  it.  Knight  might  have  been  a  Uttle  astonished. 

'  If  you  had  ever  been  engaged  to  be  married  before,' 
he  went  on,  '  I  expect  your  opinion  of  my  addresses 

would  be  different.     But  then,  I  should  not ' 

Should  not  what,  Harry  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  I  was  merely  going  to  say  that  in  that  case  I 
should  never  have  given  myself  the  pleasure  of  propos- 
ing to  you,  since  your  freedom  from  that  experience 
was  your  attraction,  darling.' 

'  You  are  severe  on  women,  are  you  not  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  think  not.      I  had  a  right  to  please  my  taste, 
and  that  was  for  untried  lips.     Other  men  than  those  of 
r^N^        347 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

my  sort  acquire  the  taste  as  they  get  older — but  don*t 

find  an  Elfride ' 

'  What  horrid  sound  is  that  we  hear  when  we  pitch 
forward  ? ' 

*  Only  the  screw — don't  find  an  Elfride  as  I  did. 
To  think  that  I  should  have  discovered  such  an  unseen 
flower  down  there  in  the  West — to  whom  a  man  is  as 
much  as  a  multitude  to  some  women,  and  a  trip  down 
the  English  Channel  Hke  a  voyage  round  the  world ! ' 

'  And  would  you,'  she  said,  and  her  voice  was 
tremulous,  'have  given  up  a  lady — if  you  had  become 
engaged  to  her — and  then  found  she  had  had  one  kiss 
before  yours — and  would  you  have — gone  away  and 
left  her  ? ' 

'  One  kiss, — no,  hardly  for  that.' 

*  Two  ? ' 

*  Well— I  could  hardly  say  inventorially  like  that. 
Too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  certainly  would  make 
me  dislike  a  woman.  But  let  us  confine  our  attention 
to  ourselves,  not  go  thinking  of  might  have  beens.' 

So  Elfride  had  allowed  her  thoughts  to  'dally  with 
false  surmise,'  and  every  one  of  Knight's  words  fell 
upon  her  like  a  weight.  After  this  they  were  silent  for 
a  long  time,  gazing  upon  the  black  mysterious  sea,  and 
hearing  the  strange  voice  of  the  restless  wind.  A  rock- 
ing to  and  fro  on  the  waves,  when  the  breeze  is  not  too 
violent  and  cold,  produces  a  soothing  effect  even  upon 
the  most  highly-wrought  mind.  Elfride  slowly  sank 
against  Knight,  and  looking  down,  he  found  by  her  soft 
regular  breathing  that  she  had  fallen  asleep.  Not 
wishing  to  disturb  her,  he  continued  still,  and  took  an 
intense  pleasure  in  supporting  her  warm  young  form  as 
it  rose  and  fell  with  her  every  breath. 

Knight  fell  to  dreaming  too,  though  he  continued 

wide   awake.     It  was   pleasant   to   realize  the  implicit 

trust  she  placed  in  him,  and  to  think  of  the  charming 

innocence  of  one  who  could  sink  to  sleep  in  so  simple 

348 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

and  unceremonious  a  manner.  More  than  all,  the 
musing  unpractical  student  felt  the  immense  responsi- 
bility he  was  taking  upon  himself  by  becoming  the 
protector  and  guide  of  such' a  trusting  creature.  The 
quiet  slumber  of  her  soul  lent  a  quietness  to  his  own. 
Then  she  moaned,  and  turned  herself  restlessly.  Pre- 
sently her  mutterings  became  distinct : 

'  Don't  tell  him — he  will  not  love  me.  ...  I  did  not 
mean  any  disgrace — indeed  I  did  not,  so  don't  tell 
Harry.  We  were  going  to  be  married — that  was  why  I 
ran  away.  .  .  .  And  he  says  he  will  not  have  a  kissed 
woman.  .  .  .  And  if  you  tell  him  he  will  go  away,  and 
I  shall  die.     I  pray  have  mercy — Oh ! ' 

Elfride  started  up  wildly. 

The  previous  moment  a  musical  ding-dong  had 
spread  into  the  air  from  their  right  hand,  and  awakened 
her. 

*  What  is  it  ?  '  she  exclaimed  in  terror. 

'  Only  "  eight  bells," '  said  Knight  soothingly. 
'  Don't  be  frightened,  Httle  bird,  you  are  safe.  What 
have  you  been  dreaming  about  ?  ' 

*  I  can't  tell,  I  can't  tell ! '  she  said  with  a  shudder. 
*  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  ! ' 

'  Stay  quietly  with  me.  We  shall  soon  see  the  dawn 
now.  Look,  the  morning  star  is  lovely  over  there. 
The  clouds  have  completely  cleared  off  whilst  you  have 
been  sleeping.     What  have  you  been  dreaming  of?' 

'  A  woman  in  our  parish.' 

*  Don't  you  like  her  ?  ' 

'  I  don't.     She  doesn't  like  me.     Where  are  we  ?  * 

'  About  south  of  the  Exe.' 

Knight  said  no  more  on  the  words  of  her  dream. 
They  watched  the  sky  till  Elfride  grew  calm,  and  the 
dawn  appeared.  It  was  mere  wan  lightness  first.  Then 
the  wind  blew  in  a  changed  spirit,  and  died  away  to  a 
zephyr.     The  star  dissolved  into  the  day. 

'  That's  how  I  should  like  to  die,'  said  Elfride,  rising 
349 


^*A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

from  her  seat  and  leaning  over  the  bulwark  to  watch  the 
star's  last  expiring  gleam. 

*  As  the  lines  say,'  Knight  replied — 


y" 


To  set  as  sets  the  morning  star,  which  goes 
Not  down  behind  the  darken'd  west,  nor  hides 
Obscured  among  the  tempests  of  the  sky, 
But  melts  away  into  the  light  of  heaven."' 


'  Oh,  Other  people  have  thought  the  same  thing,  have 
they  ?  That's  always  the  case  with  my  originalities — 
they  are  original  to  nobody  but  myself.' 

'  Not  only  the  case  with  yours.  When  I  was  a 
young  hand  at  reviewing  I  used  to  find  that  a  frightful 
pitfall — dilating  upon  subjects  I  met  with,  which  were 
novelties  to  me,  and  finding  afterwards  they  had  been 
exhausted  by  the  thinking  world  when  I  was  in 
pinafores.' 

'  That  is  delightful.  Whenever  I  find  you  have  done 
a  foolish  thing  I  am  glad,  because  it  seems  to  bring 
you  a  little  nearer  to  me,  who  have  done  many.'  And 
Elfride  thought  again  of  her  enemy  asleep  under  the 
deck  they  trod. 

All  up  the  coast,  prominences  singled  themselves  out 
from  recesses.  Then  a  rosy  sky  spread  over  the  eastern 
sea  and  behind  the  low  line  of  land,  flinging  its  livery 
in  dashes  upon  the  thin  airy  clouds  in  that  direction. 
Every  projection  on  the  land  seemed  now  so  many 
fingers  anxious  to  catch  a  little  of  the  liquid  light  thrown 
so  prodigally  over  the  sky,  and  after  a  fantastic  time  of 
lustrous  yellows  in  the  east,  the  higher  elevations  along 
the  shore  were  flooded  with  the  same  hues.  The  bluff 
and  bare  contours  of  Start  Point  caught  the  brightest, 
earliest  glow  of  all,  and  so  also  did  the  sides  of  its  white 
lighthouse,  perched  upon  a  shelf  in  its  precipitous  front 
like  a  mediaeval  saint  in  a  niche.  Their  lofty  neighbour 
Bolt  Head  on  the  left  remained  as  yet  ungilded,  and 
retained  its  gray. 

350 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

Then  up  came  the  sun,  as  it  were  in  jerks,  just  to 
seaward  of  the  easternmost  point  of  land,  flinging  out 
a  Jacob's-ladder  path  of  Hght  from  itself  to  Elfride  and 
Knight,  and  coating  them  with  rays  in  a  few  minutes. 
The  inferior  dignitaries  of  the  shore — Froward  Point, 
Berry  Head,  and  Prawle — all  had  acquired  their  share  of 
the  illumination  ere  this,  and  at  length  the  very  smallest 
protuberance  of  wave,  cliff,  or  inlet,  even  to  the  inner- 
most recesses  of  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Dart,  had  its 
portion ;  and  sunlight,  now  the  common  possession  of 
all,  ceased  to  be  the  wonderful  and  coveted  thing  it  had 
been  a  short  half  hour  before. 

After  breakfast,  Plymouth  arose  into  view,  and  grew 
distincter  to  their  nearing  vision,  the  Breakwater  ap- 
pearing like  a  streak  of  phosphoric  light  upon  the 
surface  of  the  sea.  Elfride  looked  furtively  around  for 
Mrs.  Jethway,  but  could  discern  no  shape  like  hers. 
Afterwards,  in  the  bustle  of  landing,  she  looked  again 
with  the  same  result,  by  which  time  the  woman  had 
probably  glided  upon  the  quay  unobserved.  Expand- 
ing with  a  sense  of  relief,  Elfride  waited  whilst  Knight 
looked  to  their  luggage,  and  then  saw  her  father  ap- 
proaching through  the  crowd,  twirling  his  walking-stick 
to  catch  their  attention.  Elbowing  their  way  to  him 
they  all  entered  the  town,  which  smiled  as  sunny  a  smile 
upon  Elfride  as  it  had  done  between  one  and  two  years 
earlier,  when  she  had  entered  it  at  precisely  the  same 
hour  as  the  bride-elect  of  Stephen  Smith. 


XXX 

•Vassal  unto  Love.' 

JiLFRIDE  clung  closer  to  Knight  as  day  succeeded 
day.  Whatever  else  might  admit  of  question,  there 
could  be  no  dispute  that  the  allegiance  she  bore  him 
absorbed  her  whole  soul  and  existence.  A  greater  than 
Stephen  had  arisen,  and  she  had  left  all  to  follow  him. 

The  unreserved  girl  was  never  chary  of  letting  her 
lover  discover  how  much  she  admired  him.  She  never 
once  held  an  idea  in  opposition  to  any  one  of  his,  or 
insisted  on  any  point  with  him,  or  showed  any  inde- 
pendence, or  held  her  own  on  any  subject.  His 
lightest  whim  she  respected  and  obeyed  as  law,  and 
if,  expressing  her  opinion  on  a  matter,  he  took  up 
the  subject  and  differed  from  her,  she  instantly  threw 
down  her  own  opinion  as  wrong  and  untenable.  Even 
her  ambiguities  and  espieglerie  were  but  media  of  the 
same  manifestation;  acted  charades,  embodying  the 
words  of  her  prototype,  the  tender  and  susceptible 
daughter-in-law  of  Naomi :  *  Let  me  find  favour  in 
thy  sight,  my  lord;  for  that  thou  hast  comforted  me, 
and  for  that  thou  hast  spoken  friendly  unto  thine 
handmaid.' 

She  was  syringing  the  plants  one  wet  day  in  the 
352 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

greenhouse.  Knight  was  sitting  under  a  great  passion- 
flower observing  the  scene.  Sometimes  he  looked  out 
at  the  rain  from  the  sky,  and  then  at  Elfride's  inner 
rain  of  larger  drops,  which  fell  from  trees  and  shrubs* 
after  having  previously  hung  from  the  twigs  like  small 
silver  fruit. 

'  I  must  give  you  something  to  make  you  think  of 
me  during  this  autumn  at  your  chambers,'  she  was 
saying.  'What  shall  it  be?  Portraits  do  more  harm 
than  good,  by  selecting  the  worst  expression  of  which 
your  face  is  capable.  Hair  is  unlucky.  And  you 
don't  like  jewellery.' 

'  Something  which  shall  bring  back  to  my  mind  the 
many  scenes  we  have  enacted  in  this  conservatory.  I 
see  what  I  should  prize  very  much.  That  dwarf  myrtle 
tree  in  the  pot,  which  you  have  been  so  carefully 
tending.' 

Elfride  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  myrtle. 

*  I  can  carry  it  comfortably  in  my  hat  box,'  said 
Knight.  *  And  I  will  put  it  in  my  window,  and  so, 
it  being  always  before  my  eyes,  I  shall  think  of  you 
continually.' 

It  so  happened  that  the  myrtle  which  Knight 
had  singled  out  had  a  pecuhar  beginning  and  history. 
It  had  originally  been  a  twig  worn  in  Stephen  Smith's 
button-hole,  and  he  had  taken  it  thence,  stuck  it  into 
the  pot,  and  told  her  that  if  it  grew,  she  was  to  take 
care  of  it,  and  keep  it  in  remembrance  of  him  when  he 
was  far  away. 

She  looked  wistfully  at  the  plant,  and  a  sense  of 
fairness  to  Smith's  memory  caused  her  a  pang  of 
regret  that  Knight  should  have  asked  for  that  very 
one.  It  seemed  exceeding  a  common  heartlessness  to 
let  it  go. 

'Is  there  not  anything  you  like  better?'  she  said 
sadly.     '  That  is  only  an  ordinary  myrtle.' 

•  No ;   I  am  fond  of  myrtle.'     Seeing  that  she  did 

353  .      z 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

not  take  kindly  to  the  idea,  he  said  again,  '  Why  do  you 
object  to  my  having  that  ? ' 

'  Oh  no — I  don't  object  precisely — it  was  a  feeling. 
— Ah,  here's  another  cutting  lately  struck,  and  just  as 
small — of  a  better  kind,  and  with  prettier  leaves — 
myrtus  microphylla.' 

'That  will  do  nicely.  Let  it  be  put  in  my  room, 
that  I  may  not  forget  it.  What  romance  attaches  to 
the  other  ? ' 

*  It  was  a  gift  to  me.* 

The  subject  then  dropped.  Knight  thought  no 
more  of  the  matter  till,  on  entering  his  bedroom  in 
the  evening^  he  found  the  second  myrtle  placed  upon 
his  dressing-table  as  he  had  directed.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  admiring  the  fresh  appearance  of  the  leaves  by 
candlelight,  and  then  he  thought  of  the  transaction  of 
the  day. 

Male  lovers  as  well  as  female  can  be  spoilt  by  too 
much  kindness,  and  Elfride's  uniform  submissiveness 
had  given  Knight  a  rather  exacting  manner  at  crises, 
attached  to  her  as  he  was.  '  Why  should  she  have 
refused  the  one  I  first  chose  ? '  he  now  asked  himself. 
Even  such  slight  opposition  as  she  had  shown  then 
was  exceptional  enough  to  make  itself  noticeable.  He 
was  not  vexed  with  her  in  the  least :  the  mere  varia- 
tion of  her  way  to-day  from  her  usual  ways  kept 
him  musing  on  the  subject,  because  it  perplexed  him. 
'It  was  a  gift' — those  were  her  words.  Admitting 
it  to  be  a  gift,  he  thought  she  could  hardly  value  a 
mere  friend  more  than  she  valued  him  as  a  lover,  and 
giving  the  plant  into  his  charge  would  have  made  no 
difference.  '  Except,  indeed,  it  was  the  gift  of  a  lover,' 
he  murmured. 

*  I  wonder  if  Elfride  has  ever  had  a  lover  before  ? ' 
he  said  aloud,  as  a  new  idea,   quite.     This  and  com- 
panion thoughts  were  enough  to  occupy  him  completely 
till  he  fell  asleep — rather  later  than  usual. 
•      354 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

The  next  day,  when  they  were  again  alone,  he  said 
to  her  rather  suddenly — 

'  Do  you  love  me  more  or  less,  Elfie,  for  what  I  told 
you  on  board  the  steamer  ? ' 

'  You  told  me  so  many  things,'  she  returned,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  his  and  smiling. 

*  I  mean  the  confession  you  coaxed  out  of  me — that 
I  had  never  been  in  the  position  of  lover  before.' 

'It  is  a  satisfaction,  I  suppose,  to  be  the  first  in 
your  heart,'  she  said  to  him,  with  an  attempt  to  continue 
her  smiling. 

'  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question  now,'  said 
Knight,  somewhat  awkwardly.  *  I  only  ask  it  in  a 
whimsical  way,  you  know :  not  with  great  seriousness, 
Elfride.     You  may  think  it  odd,  perhaps.' 

Elfride  tried  desperately  to  keep  the  colour  in  her 
face.  She  could  not,  though  distressed  to  think  that 
getting  pale  showed  consciousness  of  deeper  guilt  than 
merely  getting  red. 

*  Oh  no — I  shall  not  think  that,'  she  said,  because 
obliged  to  say  something  to  fill  the  pause  which  followed 
her  questioner's  remark. 

<  It  is  this  :  have  you  ever  had  a  lover  ?  I  am 
almost  sure  you  have  not ;  but,  have  you  ?  ' 

'  Not,  as  it  were,  a  lover ;  I  mean,  not  worth  men- 
tioning, Harry,'  she  faltered. 

Knight,  overstrained  in  sentiment  as  he  knew  the 
feeling  to  be,  felt  some  sickness  of  heart. 

'  Still,  he  was  a  lover  ?  ' 

'Well,  a  sort  of  lover,  I  suppose,'  she  responded 
tardily. 

*  A  man,  I  mean,  you  know.' 

'  Yes  ;  but  only  a  m.ere  person,  and ' 

'  But  truly  your  lover  ?  ' 

'Yes;  a  lover  certainly  —  he  was  that.  Yes,  he 
might  have  been  called  my  lover.' 

Knight  said  nothing  to  this  for  a  minute  or  more, 
355 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

and  kept  silent  time  with  his  finger  to  the  tick  of 
the  old  library  clock,  in  which  room  the  colloquy  was 
going  on. 

*  You  don't  mind,  Harry,  do  you  ? '  she  said 
anxiously,  nestling  close  to  him,  and  watching  his  face. 

'  Of  course,  I  don't  seriously  mind.  In  reason,  a 
man  cannot  object  to  such  a  trifle.  I  only  thought  you 
hadn't — that  was  all.' 

However,  one  ray  was  abstracted  from  the  glory 
about  her  head.  But  afterwards,  when  Knight  was 
wandering  by  himself  over  the  bare  and  breezy  hills, 
and  meditating  on  the  subject,  that  ray  suddenly 
returned.  For  she  might  have  had  a  lover,  and  never 
have  cared  in  the  least  for  him.  She  might  have  used 
the  word  improperly,  and  meant  '  admirer '  all  the  time. 
Of  course  she  had  been  admired ;  and  one  man  might 
have  made  his  admiration  more  prominent  than  that  of 
the  rest — a  very  natural  case. 

They  were  sitting  on  one  of  the  garden  seats  when 
he  found  occasion  to  put  the  supposition  to  the  test. 
'  Did  you  love  that  lover  or  admirer  of  yours  ever  so 
httle,  Elfie  ? ' 

She  murmured  reluctantly,  '  Yes,  I  think  I  did.' 

Knight  felt  the  same  faint  touch  of  misery.  '  Only 
a  very  little  ?  '  he  said. 

*  I  am  not  sure  how  much.' 

'  But  you  are  sure,  darUng,  you  loved  him  a  little  ? ' 

'  I  think  I  am  sure  I  loved  him  a  little.' 

'  And  not  a  great  deal,  Elfie  ?  ' 

'  My  love  was  not  supported  by  reverence  for  his 
powers.' 

'  But,  Elfride,  did  you  love  him  deeply  ?  '  said  Knight 
restlessly. 

'  I  don't  exactly  know  how  deep  you  mean  by 
deeply.' 

'  That's  nonsense.' 

*  You    misapprehend ;     and    you    have    let    go    my 

356 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

hand  ! '  she  cried,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  *  Harry, 
don't  be  severe  with  me,  and  don't  question  me.  I 
did  not  love  him  as  I  do  you.  And  could  it  be  deeply 
if  I  did  not  think  him  cleverer  than  myself?  For  I 
did  not.  You  grieve  me  so  much — you  can't  think.' 
'  I  will  not  say  another  word  about  it.' 

*  And  you  will  not  think  about  it,  either,  will  you  ? 
I  know  you  think  of  weaknesses  in  me  after  I  am  out 
of  your  sight ;  and  not  knowing  what  they  are,  I  can- 
not combat  them.  I  almost  wish  you  were  of  a  grosser 
nature,  Harry ;  in  truth  I  do  !  Or  rather,  I  wish  I 
could  have  the  advantages  such  a  nature  in  you  would 
afford  me,  and  yet  have  you  as  you  are.' 

*  What  advantages  would  they  be  ?  ' 

'  Less  anxiety,  and  more  security.  Ordinary  men  are 
not  so  delicate  in  their  tastes  as  you ;  and  where  the 
lover  or  husband  is  not  fastidious,  and  refined,  and  of 
a  deep  nature,  things  seem  to  go  on  better,  I  fancy — as 
far  as  I  have  been  able  to  observe  the  world.'  . 

*  Yes ;   I  suppose  it  is  right.     Shallowness  has  this  | 
advantage,  that  you  can't  be  drowned  there.'  ^■ 

*  But  I  think  I'll  have  you  as  you  are ;  yes,  I  will ! ' 
she  said  winsomely.  *  The  practical  husbands  and 
wives  who  take  things  philosophically  are  very  humdrum, 
are  they  not  ?  Yes,  it  would  kill  me  quite.  You  please 
me  best  as  you  are.' 

*  Even  though  I  wish  you  had  never  cared  for  one 
before  me  ? ' 

'  Yes.     And  you  must  not  wish  it.     Don't ! ' 

'  I'll  try  not  to,  Elfride.' 

So  she  hoped,  but  her  heart  was  troubled.  If  he 
felt  so  deeply  on  this  point,  what  would  he  say  did  he 
know  all,  and  see  it  as  Mrs.  Jethway  saw  it  ?  He  would 
never  make  her  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world  by  taking 
her  to  be  his  own  for  aye.  The  thought  enclosed  her 
as  a  tomb  whenever  it  presented  itself  to  her  perturbed 
brain.  She  tried  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Jethway  would 
357 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

"never  do  her  such  a  cruel  wrong  as  to  increase  the  bad 
appearance  of  her  folly  by  innuendoes ;  and  concluded 
that  concealment,  having  been  begun,  must  be  persisted 
in,  if  possible.  For  what  '.le  might  consider  as  bad  as 
the  fact,  was  her  previous  concealment  of  it  by  strategy. 

But  Elfride  knew  Mrs.  Jethway  to  be  her  enemy,  and 
to  hate  her.  It  was  possible  she  would  do  her  worst. 
And  should  she  do  it,  all  might  be  over. 

Would  the  woman  Hsten  to  reason,  and  be  per- 
suaded not  to  ruin  one  who  had  never  intentionally 
harmed  her  ? 

It  was  night  in  the  valley  between  Endelstow  Crags 
and  the  shore.  The  brook  which  trickled  that  way  to 
the  sea  was  distinct  in  its  murmurs  now,  and  over  the 
line  of  its  course  there  began  to  hang  a  white  riband 
of  fog.  Against  the  sky,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  vale, 
the  black  form  of  the  church  could  be  seen.  On  th/j 
other  rose  hazel-bushes,  a  few  trees,  and  where  these 
were  absent,  furze  tufts — as  tall  as  men — on  stems 
nearly  as  stout  as  timber.  The  shriek  of  some  bird 
was  occasionally  heard,  as  it  flew  terror-stricken  from  its 
first  roost,  to  seek  a  new  sleeping-place,  where  it  might 
pass  the  night  unmolested. 

In  the  evening  shade,  some  way  down  the  valley, 
and  under  a  row  of  scrubby  oaks,  a  cottage  could  still 
oe  discerned.  It  stood  absolutely  alone.  The  house 
was  rather  large,  and  the  windows  of  some  of  the  rooms 
were  nailed  up  with  boards  on  the  outside,  which  gave 
a  particularly  deserted  appearance  to  the  whole  erection. 
From  the  front  door  an  irregular  series  of  rough  and 
misshapen  steps,  cut  in  the  soHd  rock,  led  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  streamlet,  which,  at  their  extremity,  wda 
hollowed  into  a  basin  through  which  the  water  trickled. 
This  was  evidently  the  means  of  water  supply  to  the 
dweller  or  dwellers  in  the  cottage. 

A  light  footstep  was  heard  descending  from  the 
3S8 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

higher  slopes  of  the  hillside.  Indistinct  in  the  pathway 
appeared  a  moving  female  shape,  who  advanced  and 
knocked  timidly  at  the  door.  No  answer  being  re- 
turned the  knock  was  repeated,  with  the  same  result, 
and  it  was  then  repeated  a  third  time.  This  also  was 
unsuccessful. 

From  one  of  the  only  two  windows  on  the  ground 
floor  which  were  not  boarded  up  came  rays  of  light, 
no  shutter  or  curtain  obscuring  the  room  from  the  eyes 
of  a  passer  on  the  outside.  So  few  walked  that  way 
after  nightfall  that  any  such  means  to  secure  secrecy 
were  probably  deemed  unnecessary. 

The  inequahty  of  the  rays  faUing  upon  the  trees 
outside  told  that  the  light  had  its  origin  in  a  flickering 
fire  only.  The  visitor,  after  the  third  knocking,  stepped 
a  Httle  to  the  left  in  order  to  gain  a  view  of  the  interior, 
and  threw  back  the  hood  from  her  face.  The  dancing 
yellow  sheen  revealed  the  fair  and  anxious  countenance 
of  Elfride. 

Inside  the  house  this  firelight  was  enough  to  illumine 
the  room  distinctly,  and  to  show  that  the  furniture  of 
the  cottage  was  superior  to  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  so  unpromising  an  exterior.  It  also  showed 
to  Elfride  that  the  room  was  empty.  Beyond  the  light 
quiver  and  flap  of  the  flames  nothing  moved  or  was 
audible  therein. 

She  turned  the  handle  and  entered,  throwing  off  the 
cloak  which  enveloped  her,  under  which  she  appeared 
without  hat  or  bonnet,  and  in  the  sort  of  half-toilette 
country  people  ordinarily  dine  in.  Then  advancing  to 
the  foot  of  the  staircase  she  called  distinctly,  but  some- 
what fearfully,  '  Mrs.  Jethway  ! ' 

No  answer. 

With  a  look  of  relief  and  regret  combined,  denoting 
that  ease  came  to  the  heart  and  disappointment  to  the 
brain,  Elfride  paused  for  several  minutes,  as  if  un- 
decided how  to  act.  Determining  to  wait,  she  sat 
359 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

down  on  a  chair.  The  minutes  drew  on,  and  after 
sitting  on  the  thorns  of  impatience  for  half  an  hour, 
she  searched  her  pocket,  took  therefrom  a  letter,  and 
tore  off  the  blank  leaf.  Then  taking  out  a  pencil  she 
wrote  upon  the  paper : 

*  Dear  Mrs.  Jethway, — I  have  been  to  visit  you. 
I  wanted  much  to  see  you,  but  I  cannot  wait  any  longer. 
I  came  to  beg  you  not  to  execute  the  threats  you  have 
repeated  to  me.  Do  not,  I  beseech  you,  Mrs.  Jethway, 
let  any  one  know  I  ran  away  from  home !  It  would 
ruin  me  with  him,  and  break  my  heart.  I  will  do  any- 
thing for  you,  if  you  will  be  kind  to  me.  In  the  name 
of  our  common  womanhood,  do  not,  I  implore  you, 
make  a  scandal  of  me. — Yours,  E.  Swancourt.' 

She  folded  the  note  cornerwise,  directed  it,  and 
placed  it  on  the  table.  Then  again  drawing  the  hood 
over  her  curly  head  she  emerged  silently  as  she  had 
come. 

Whilst  this  episode,  had  been  in  action  at  Mrs. 
Jethway's  cottage.  Knight  had  gone  from  the  dining- 
room  into  the  drawing-room,  and  found  Mrs.  Swancourt 
there  alone. 

'  Elfride  has  vanished  upstairs  or  somewhere,'  she 
said. 

*And  I  have  been  reading  an  article  in  an  old 
number  of  the  Present  that  I  lighted  on  by  chance  a 
short  time  ago ;  it  is  an  article  you  once  told  us  was 
yours.  Well,  Harry,  with  due  deference  to  your  literary 
powers,  allow  me  to  say  that  this  effusion  is  all  nonsense, 
in  my  opinion.' 

MVhat  is  it  about?'  said  Knight,  taking  up  the 
paper  and  reading. 

'  There :  don't  get  red  about  it.  Own  that  experi- 
ence has  taught  you  to  be  more  charitable.  I  have 
never  read  such  unchivalrous  sentiments  in  my  life — 
360 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

from  a  man,  I  mean.     There,  I   forgive   you ;    it  was 
before  you  knew  Elfride.' 

'  Oh  yes,'  said  Knight,  looking  up.  '  I  remember 
now.  The  text  of  that  sermon  was  not  my  own  at  all, 
but  was  suggested  to  me  by  a  young  man  named  Smith 
— the  same  whom  I  have  mentioned  to  you  as  coming 
from  this  parish.  I  thought  the  idea  rather  ingenious 
at  the  time,  and  enlarged  it  to  the  weight  of  a  few 
guineas,  because  I  had  nothing  else  in  my  head/ 

*  Which  idea  do  you  call  the  text  ?     I  am  curious  t 
koDw  that.' 

Well,  this,'  said  Knight,  somewhat  unwillingly. 
*  That  experience  teaches,  and  your  sweetheart,  no  less 
than  your  tailor,  is  necessarily  very  imperfect  in  her 
duties,  if  you  are  her  first  patron :  and  conversely,  the 
sweetheart  who  is  graceful  under  the  initial  kiss 
must  be   supposed  to  have  had  some  practice  in  the 

f» ' 

*  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  wrote  that  upoh 
the  strength  of  another  man's  remark,  without  having 
tested  it  by  practice  ?  ' 

'  Yes — indeed  I  do.' 

'  Then  I  think  it  was  uncalled  for  and  unfair.  And 
how  do  you  know  it  is  true?  I  expect  you  regret  it 
now.' 

*  Since  you  bring  me  into  a  serious  mood,  I  will 
speak  candidly.  I  do  believe  that  remark  to  be  per- 
fectly true,  and,  having  written  it,  I  would  defend  it 
anywhere.  But  I  do  often  regret  having  ever  written 
it,  as  well  as  others  of  the  sort.  I  have  grown  older 
since,  and  I  find  such  a  tone  of  writing  is  calculated  to 
do  harm  in  the  world.  Every  literary  Jack  becomes  a 
gentleman  if  he  can  only  pen  a  few  indifferent  satires 
upon  womankind :  women  themselves,  too,  have  taken 
to  the  trick;  and  so,  upon  the  whole,  I  begin  to  be 
rather  ashamed  of  my  companions.' 

*  Ah,  Henry,  you  have  fallen  in  love  since,  and  it 
2  A  361 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

makes  a  difference,'  said  Mrs.  Swancourt  with  a  faint 
tone  of  banter. 

'  That's  true ;  but  that  is  not  my  reason.' 

'  Having  found  that,  in  a  case  of  your  own  experi- 
ence, a  so-called  goose  was  a  swan,  it  seems  absurd 
to  deny  such  a  possibility  in  other  men's  experiences.' 

*  You  can  hit  palpably,  cousin  Charlotte,'  said  Knight. 
'You  are  like  the  boy  who  puts  a  stone  inside  his 
snowball,  and  I  shall  play  with  you  no  longer.  Excuse 
me — I  am  going  for  my  evening  stroll.' 

Though  Knight  had  spoken  jestingly,  this  incident 
and  conversation  had  caused  him  a  sudden  depression. 
Coming,  rather  singularly,*  just  after  his  discovery  that 
Elfride  had  known  what  it  was  to  love  warmly  before 
she  had  known  him,  his  mind  dwelt  upon  the  subject, 
and  the  familiar  pipe  he  smoked,  whilst  pacing  up  and 
down  the  shrubbery-path,  failed  to  be  a  solace.  He 
thought  again  of  those  idle  words — hitherto  quite  for- 
gotten— about  the  first  kiss  of  a  girl,  and  the  theory 
seemed  more  than  reasonable.  Of  course  their  sting 
now  lay  in  their  bearing  on  Elfride. 

Elfride,  under  Knight's  kiss,  had  certainly  been  a 
very  different  woman  from  herself  under  Stephen's. 
Whether  for  good  or  for  ill,  she  had  marvellously  well 
learnt  a  betrothed  lady's  part ;  and  the  fascinating  finish 
of  her  deportment  in  this  second  campaign  did  probably 
arise  from  her  unreserved  encouragement  of  Stephen. 
Knight,  with  all  the  rapidity  of  jealous  sensitiveness, 
pounced  upon  some  words  she  had  inadvertently  let  fall 
about  an  earring,  which  he  had  only  partially  under- 
stood at  the  time.  It  was  during  that  *  initial  kiss '  by 
the  little  waterfall : 

'  We  must  be  careful.  I  lost  the  other  by  doing 
this ! '  i 

A  flush  which  h^d  in  it  as  much  of  wounded  pride 
as  of  sorrow,  passed -over  Knight  as  he  thought  of  what 
he  had  so  frequently  said  to  her  in  his  simplicity.  '  I 
362 


.\ 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

always  meant  to  be  the  first  comer  in  a  woman's  heart ; 
fresh  lips  or  none  for  me.'  How  childishly  blind  he 
must  have  seemed  to  this  mere  girl !  How  she  must 
have  laughed  at  him  inwardly !  He  absolutely  writhed 
as  he  thought  of  the  confession  she  had  wrung  from  him 
on  the  boat  in  the  darkness  of  night.  The  one  con- 
ception which  had  sustained  his  dignity  when  drawn 
out  of  his  shell  on  that  occasion — that  of  her  charming 
ignorance  of  all  such  matters — how  absurd  it  was  ! 

This  man,  whose  imagination  had  been  fed  up  to 
preternatural  size  by  lonely  study  and  silent  observations 
of  his  kind — whose  emotions  had  been  drawn  out  long 
and  delicate  by  his  seclusio^j,  Uke  plants  in  a  cellar — 
jvas  now  absolutely  in  pain.  Moreover,  several  years  of 
poetic  study,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  poetic 
efforts,  had  tended  to  develop  the  affective  side  of  his 
constitution  still  further,  in  proportion  to  his  active 
faculties.  It  was  his  belief  in  the  absolute  newness  of 
blandishment  to  Elfride  which  had  constituted  her 
primary  charm.  He  began  to  think  it  was  as  hard  to 
be  earliest  in  a  woman's  heart  as  it  was  to  be  first  in  the 
Pool  of  Bethesda. 

That  Knight  should  have  been  thus  constituted : 
that  Elfride's  second  lover  should  not  have  been  one 
of  the  great  mass  of  bustling  mankind,  little  given  to 
introspection,  whose  good-nature  might  have  compen- 
sated for  any  lack  of  appreciativeness,  was  the  chance 
of  things.  That  her  throbbing,  self-confounding,  in- 
discreet heart  should  have  to  defend  itself  unaided 
against  the  keen  scrutiny  and  logical  power  which 
Knight,  now  that  his  suspicions  were  aw^akened,  would 
sooner  or  later  be  sure  to  exercise  against  her,  was  her 
misfortune.  A  miserable  incongruity  was  apparent  in 
the  circumstance  of  a  strong  mind  practising  its  unerring 
archery  upon  a  heart  which  the  owner  of  that  mind 
loved  better  than  his  own. 

Elfride's  docile  devotion  to  Knight  was  now  its  own 
363 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

enemy.  Clinging  to  him  so  dependently,  she  taught 
him  in  time  to  presume  upon  that  devotion — a  lesson 
men  are  not  slow  to  learn.  A  slight  rebelliousness 
occasionally  would  have  done  him  no  harm,  and  would 
have  been  a  world  of  advantage  to  her.  But  she 
Y    idolized  him,  and  was  proud  to  be  his  bond-servant. 


XXXI 

•A  worm  i'  the  bud.* 

O  NE  day  the  reviewer  said,  *  Let  us  go  to  the  cliffs 
again,  Elfride ; '  and,  without  consulting  her  wishes,  he 
moved  as  if  to  start  at  once. 

'  The  cliff  of  our  dreadful  adventure  ?  '  she  inquired, 
with  a  shudder.  '  Death  stares  me  in  the  face  in  the 
person  of  that  cliff.' 

Nevertheless,  so  entirely  had  she  sunk  her  indivi- 
duality in  his  that  the  remark  was  not  uttered  as  an 
expostulation,  and  she  immediately  prepared  to  accom- 
pany him. 

'  No,  not  that  place,'  said  Knight.  '  It  is  ghastly 
to  me,  too.  That  other,  I  mean  ;  what  is  its  name  ? — 
Windy  Beak.' 

Windy  Beak  was  the  second  cliff  in  height  along 
that  coast,  and,  as  is  frequently  the  case  with  the  natural 
features  of  the  globe  no  less  than  with  the  intellectual 
features  of  men,  it  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  the 
first.  Moreover,  it  was  the  cliff  to  which  Elfride  had 
ridden  with  Stephen  Smith,  on  a  well-remembered 
morning  of  his  summer  visit. 

So,  though  thought  of  the  former  cliff  had  caused 
her  to  shudder  at  the  perils  to  which  her  lover  and  her- 
365 


A  PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

self  had  there  been  exposed,  by  being  associated  with 
Knight  only  it  •  was  not  so  objectionable  as  Windy 
Beak.  That  place  was  worse  than  gloomy,  it  was  a 
perpetual  reproach  to  her. 

But  not  liking  to  refuse,  she  said,  '  It  is  further  than 
the  other  cUif.' 

'  Yes  ;   but  you  can  ride.' 

'  And  will  you  too  ?  ' 

'  No,  I'll  walk.' 

A  duplicate  of  her  original  arrangement  with  Stephen. 
Some  fatality  must  be  hanging  over  her  head.  But  she 
ceased  objecting. 

'  Very  well,  Harry,  I'll  ride,'  she  said  meekly. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  was  in  the  saddle. 
But  how  different  the  mood  from  that  of  the  former 
time.  She  had,  indeed,  given  up  her  position  as  queen 
of  the  less  to  be  vassal  of  the  greater.  Here  was  no 
showing  off  now;  no  scampering  out  of  sight  with 
Pansy,  to  perplex  and  tire  her  companion ;  no  saucy 
remarks  on  La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci.  Elfride  was 
burdened  with  the  very  intensity  of  her  love. 

Knight  did  most  of  the  talking  along  the  journey. 
Elfride  silently  listened,  and  entirely  resigned  herself 
to  the  motions  of  the  ambhng  horse  upon  which  she 
sat,  alternately  rising  and  sinking  gently,  like  a  sea  bird 
upon  a  sea  wave. 

When  they  had  reached  the  limit  of  a  quadruped's 
possibilities  in  walking.  Knight  tenderly  lifted  her  from 
the  saddle,  tied  the  horse,  and  rambled  on  with  her  to 
the  seat  in  the  rock.  Knight  sat  down,  and  drew 
Elfride  deftly  beside  him,  and  they  looked  over  the  sea. 

Two  or  three  degrees  above  that  melancholy  and 
eternally  level  line,  the  ocean  horizon,  hung  a  sun  of 
brass,  with  no  visible  rays,  in  a  sky  of  ashen  hue.  It 
was  a  sky  the  sun  did  not  illuminate  or  enkindle,  as  is 
usual  at  sunsets.  This  sheet  of  sky  was  met  by  the 
salt  mass  of  gray  water,  flecked  here  and  there  with 
366 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

white.  A  waft  of  dampness  occasionally  rose  to  their 
faces,  which  was  probably  rarefied  spray  from  the  blows 
of  the  sea  upon  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

Elfride  wished  it  could  be  a  longer  time  ago  that  she 
had  sat  there  with  Stephen  as  her  lover,  and  agreed  to 
be  his  wife.  The  significant  closeness  of  that  time  to 
the  present  was  another  item  to  add  to  the  list  of 
passionate  fears  which  were  chronic  with  her  now. 

Yet  Knight  was  very  tender  this  evening,  and  sus- 
tained her  close  to  him  as  they  sat. 

Not  a  word  had  been  uttered  by  either  since  sitting 
down,  when  Knight  said  musingly,  looking  still  afar — 

'  I  wonder  if  any  lovers  in  past  years  ever  sat  here 
with  arms  locked,  as  we  do  now.  Probably  they  have, 
for  the  place  seems  formed  for  a  seat.' 

Her  recollection  of  a  well-known  pair  who  had,  and 
the  much-talked-of  loss  which  had  ensued  therefrom, 
and  how  the  young  man  had  been  sent  back  to  look  for 
the  missing  article,  led  Elfride  to  glance  down  to  her 
side,  and  behind  her  back.  Many  people  who  lose  a 
trinket  involuntarily  give  a  momentary  look  for  it  in 
passing  the  spot  ever  so  long  afterwards.  They  do  not 
often  find  it.  Elfride,  in  turning  her  head,  saw  some- 
thing shine  weakly  from  a  crevice  in  the  rocky  sedile. 
Only  for  a  few  minutes  during  the  day  did  the  sun  light 
the  alcove  to  its  innermost  rifts  and  slits,  but  these 
were  the  minutes  now,  and  its  level  rays  did  Elfride 
the  good  or  evil  turn  of  revealing  the  lost  ornament. 

Elfride's  thoughts  instantly  reverted  to  the  words 
she  had  unintentionally  uttered  upon  what  had  been 
going  on  when  the  earring  was  lost.  And  she  was  im- 
mediately seized  with  a  misgiving  that  Knight,  on  see- 
ing the  object,  would  be  reminded  of  her  words.  Her 
instinctive  act  therefore  was  to  secure  it  privately. 

It  was  so  deep  in  the  crack  that  Elfride  could  not 
pull  it  out  with  her  hand,  though  she  made  several 
surreptitious  trials. 

367 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  What  are  you  doing,  Elfie  ?  '  said  Knight,  noticing 
her  attempts,  and  looking  behind  him  likewise. 

She  had  relinquished  the  endeavour,  but  too  late. 

Knight  peered  into  the  joint  from  which  her  hand 
had  been  withdrawn,  and  saw  what  she  had  seen.  He 
instantly  took  a  penknife  from  his  pocket,  and  by  dint 
of  probing  and  scraping  brought  the  earring  out  upon 
open  ground. 

'  It  is  not  yours,  surely  ?  '  he  inquired. 

*  Yes,  it  is,'  she  said  quietly. 

'  Well,  that  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing,  that  we 
should  find  it  like  this ! '  Knight  then  remembered 
more  circumstances ;  *  What,  is  it  the  one  you  have 
told  me  of?' 

« Yes.' 

The  unfortunate  remark  of  hers  at  the  kiss  came 
into  his  mind,  if  eyes  were  ever  an  index  to  be  trusted. 
Trying  to  repress  the  words  he  yet  spoke  on  the  sub- 
ject, more  to  obtain  assurance  that  what  it  had  seemed 
to  imply  was  not  true  than  from  a  wish  to  pry  into 
bygones. 

'  Were  you  really  engaged  to  be  married  to  that 
lover  ? '  he  said,  looking  straight  forward  at  the  sea 
again. 

'  Yes — but  not  exactly.     Yet  I  think  I  was.' 

*  O  Elfride,  engaged  to  be  married ! '  he  murmured. 

*  It  would  have  been  called  a — secret  engagement, 
I  suppose.  But  don't  look  so  disappointed;  don't 
blame  me.' 

*  No,  no.' 

'  Why  do  you  say  "  No,  no,"  in  such  a  way  ? 
Sweetly  enough,  but  so  barely  ?  ' 

Knight  made  no  direct  reply  to  this.  *  Elfride,  I  told 
you  once/  he  said,  following  out  his  thoughts,  '  that  I 
never  kissed  a  woman  as  a  sweetheart  until  I  kissed  you. 
A  kiss  is  not  much,  I  suppose,  and  it  happens  to  few 
young  people  to  be  able  to  avoid  all  blandishments  and 
368 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

attentions  except  from  the  one  they  afterwards  marry. 
But  I  have  peculiar  weaknesses,  Elfride  ;  and  because  I 
have  led  a  peculiar  Hfe,  I  must  suffer  for  it,  I  suppose. 
I  had  hoped — well,  what  I  had  no  right  to  hope  in  con- 
nection with  you.  You  naturally  granted  your  former 
lover  the  privileges  you  grant  me.' 

A  *  yes '  came  from  her  like  the  last  sad  whisper  of  a 
breeze. 

*  And  he  used  to  kiss  you — of  course  he  did.* 

*  Yes.' 

*  And  perhaps  you  allowed  him  a  more  free  manner 
in  his  love-making  than  I  have  shown  in  mine.' 

*  No,  I  did  not.'    This  was  rather  more  alertly  spoken. 

*  But  he  adopted  it  without  being  allowed  ?  ' 
'  Yes.' 

*  How  much  I  have  made  of  you,  Elfride,  and  how 
I  have  kept  aloof ! '  said  Knight  in  deep  and  shaken 
tones.  *  So  many  days  and  hours  as  I  have  hoped  in 
you — I  have  feared  to  kiss  you  more  than  those  two 
times.     And  he  made  no  scruples  to  .  .  .' 

She  crept  closer  to  him  and  trembled  as  if  with  cold. 
Her  dread  that  the  whole  story,  with  random  additions, 
would  become  known  to  him,  caused  her  manner  to  be 
so  agitated  that  Knight  was  alarmed  and  perplexed  into 
stillness.  The  actual  innocence  which  made  her  think 
so  fearfully  of  what,  as  the  world  goes,  was  not  a  great 
matter,  magnified  her  apparent  guilt.  It  may  have  said 
to  Knight  that  a  woman  who  was  so  flurried  in  the 
preliminaries  must  have  a  dreaful  sequel  to  her  tale. 

*  I  know,'  continued  Knight,  with  an  indescribable 
drag  of  manner  and  intonation, — '  I  know  I  am  absurdly 
scrupulous  about  you — that  I  want  you  too  exclusively 
mine.  In  your  past  before  you  knew  me — from  your 
very  cradle — I  wanted  to  think  you  had  been  mine. 
I  would  make  you  mine  by  main  force.  Elfride,'  he 
went  on  vehemently,  *  I  can't  help  this  jealousy  over 
you !     It  is  my  nature,   and  must  be  so,  and  I  hate 

369  2  A 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

the   fact    that  you    have    been    caressed    before :    yes, 
hate  it ! ' 

She  drew  a  long  deep  breath,  which  was  half  a  sob. 
Knight's  face  was  hard,  and  he  never  looked  at  her 
at  all,  still  fixing  his  gaze  far  out  to  sea,  which  the  sun 
had  now  resigned  to  the  shade.  In  high  places  it  is 
not  long  from  sunset  to  night,  dusk  being  in  a  measure 
banished,  and  though  only  evening  where  they  sat,  it 
had  been  twilight  in  the  valleys  for  half  an  hour. 
Upon  the  dull  expanse  of  sea  there  gradually  intensified 
itself  into  existence  the  gleam  of  a  distant  light-ship. 

*  When  that  lover  first  kissed  you,  Elfride  was  it 
in  such  a  place  as  this  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  it  was.' 

*  You  don't  tell  me  anything  but  what  I  wring  out 
of  you.  Why  is  that?  Why  have  you  suppressed  all 
mention  of  this  when  casual  confidences  of  mine  should 
have  suggested  confidence  in  return?  On  board  the 
Juliet^  why  were  you  so  secret?  It  seems  like  being 
made  a  fool  of,  Elfride,  to  think  that,  when  I  was 
teaching  you  how  desirable  it  was  that  we  should  have 
no  secrets  from  each  other,  you  were  assenting  in 
words,  but  in  act  contradicting  me.  Confidence  would 
have  been  so  much  more  promising  for  our  happiness. 
If  you  had  had  confidence  in  me,  and  told  me  will- 
ingly, I  should — be  different.  But  you  suppress  every- 
thing, and  I  shall  question  you.  Did  you  live  at 
Endelstow  at  that  time  ?  ' 

*  Yes,'  she  said  faintly. 

'  Where  were  you  when  he  first  kissed  you  ?  ' 

*  Sitting  in  this  seat.' 

*  Ah,  I  thought  so ! '  said  Knight,  rising  and  facing 
her. 

*  And  that  accounts  for  everything — the  exclamation 
which  you  explained  deceitfully,  and  all !  Forgive  the 
harsh  word,  Elfride — forgive  it.'  He  smiled  a  surface 
smile  as  he  continued:    'What  a  poor   mortal  I  am 

370 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

to  play  second  fiddle  in  everything  and  to  be  deluded 
by  fibs ! ' 

'  Oh,  don't  say  it ;  don't,  Harry  !  * 

<  Where  did  he  kiss  you  besides  here  ?  * 

*  Sitting  on — a  tomb  in  the — churchyard — and  other 
places,'  she  answered  with  slow  recklessness. 

*  Never  mind,  never  mind,'  he  exclaimed,  on  seeing 
her  tears  and  perturbation.  '  I  don't  want  to  grieve 
you.     I  don't  care.' 

But  Knight  did  care. 

'  It  makes  no  difference,  you  know,'  he  continued, 
seeing  she  did  not  reply. 

'  I  feel  cold,   said  Elfride.     *  Shall  we  go  home  ?  * 

'  Yes ;  it  is  late  m  the  year  to  sit  long  out  of  doors  : 
we  ought  to  be  off  this  ledge  before  it  gets  too  dark  to  let 
us  see  our  footing.     I  daresay  the  horse  is  impatient.' 

Knight  spoke  the  merest  commonplace  to  her  now. 
He  had  hoped  to  the  last  moment  that  she  would  have 
volunteered  the  whole  story  of  her  first  attachment.  It 
grew  more  and  more  distasteful  to  him  that  she  should 
have  a  secret  of  this  nature.  Such  entire  confidence  as 
he  had  pictured  as  about  to  exist  between  himself  and 
the  innocent  young  wife  who  had  known  no  lover's  tones 
save  his — was  this  its  beginning  ?  He  lifted  her  upon 
the  horse,  and  they  went  along  constrainedly.  The 
poison  of  suspicion  was  doing  its  work  well. 

An  incident  occurred  on  this  homeward  journey 
which  was  long  remembered  by  both,  as  adding  shade 
to  shadow.  Knight  could  not  keep  from  his  mind  the 
words  of  Adam's  reproach  to  Eve  in  Paradise  Lost^  and 
at  last  whispered  them  to  himself — 

*  Fcx)rd  and  beguiled  :  by  him  thou,  I  by  thee  ! ' 

'  What  did  you  say  ?  '  Elfride  inquired  timorously. 
'  It  was  only  a  quotation.' 

They  had  now  dropped  into  a  hollow,  and  the  church 
tower  made  its    appearance  against   the  pale  evening 
371 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

sky,  its  lower  part  being  hidden  by  some  intervening 
trees.  Elfride,  being  denied  an  answer,  was  looking 
at  the  tower  and  trying  to  think  of  some  contrasting 
quotation  she  might  use  to  regain  his  tenderness. 
After  a  little  thought  she  said  in  winning  tones — 

'  "  Thou  hast  been  my  hope,  and  a  strong  tower  for 
me  against  the  enemy."  ' 

They  passed  on.  A  few  minutes  later  three  or  four 
birds  were  seen  to  fly  out  of  the  tower. 

*The  strong  tower  moves,'  said  Knight,  with  sur- 
prise. 

A  corner  of  the  square  mass  swayed  forward,  sank, 
and  vanished.  A  loud  rumble  followed,  and  a  cloud 
of  dust  arose  where  all  had  previously  been  so  clear. 

'  The  church  restorers  have  done  it  ! '  said  Elfride. 

At  this  minute  Mr.  Swancourt  was  seen  approach- 
ing them.  He  came  up  with  a  bustling  demeanour, 
apparently  much  engrossed  by  some  business  in  hand. 

'  We  have  got  the  tower  down ! '  he  exclaimed. 
'  It  came  rather  quicker  than  we  intended  it  should. 
The  first  idea  was  to  take  it  down  stone  by  stone, 
you  know.  In  doing  this  the  crack  widened  consider- 
ably, and  it  was  not  believed  safe  for  the  men  to  stand 
upon  the  walls  any  longer.  Then  we  decided  to  under- 
mine it,  and  three  men  set  to  work  at  the  weakest  corner 
this  afternoon.  They  had  left  off  for  the  evening, 
intending  to  give  the  final  blow  to-morrow  morning, 
and  had  been  home  about  half  an  hour,  when  down  it 
came.  A  very  successful  job — a  very  fine  job  indeed. 
But  he  was  a  tough  old  fellow  in  spite  of  the  crack.' 
Here  Mr.  Swancourt  wiped  from  his  face  the  perspira- 
tion his  excitement  had  caused  him. 

'  Poor  old  tower  ! '  said  Elfride. 

*  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  it,'  said  Knight.  •  It  was 
an  interesting  piece  of  antiquity — a  local  record  of 
local  art.' 

*Ah,  but  my  dear  sir,  we  shall  have  a  new  one,' 
372 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

expostulated  Mr.  Swancourt ;  *  a  splendid  tower — 
designed  by  a  first-rate  London  man — in  the  newest 
style  of  Gothic  art,  and  full  of  Christian  feeling.' 

'  Indeed  ! '  said  Knight. 

*  Oh  yes.  Not  in  the  barbarous  clumsy  architecture 
of  this  neighbourhood ;  you  see  nothing  so  rough  and 
pagan  anywhere  else  in  England.  When  the  men  are 
gone,  I  would  advise  you  to  go  and  see  the  church 
before  anything  further  is  done  to  it.  You  can  now 
sit  in  the  chancel,  and  look  down  the  nave  through  the 
west  arch,  and  through  that  far  out  to  sea.  In  fact,' 
said  Mr.  Swancourt  significantly,  *  if  a  wedding  were 
performed  at  the  altar  to-morrow  morning,  it  might  be 
witnessed  from  the  deck  of  a  ship  on  a  voyage  to  the 
South  Seas,  with  a  good  glass.  However,  after  dinner, 
when  the  moon  has  risen,  go  up  and  see  for  yourselves.' 

Knight  assented  with  feverish  readiness.  He  had 
decided  within  the  last  few  minutes  that  he  could  not 
rest  another  night  without  further  talk  with  Elfride  upon 
the  subject  which  now  divided  them  :  he  was  determined 
to  know  all,  and  relieve  his  disquiet  in  some  way. 
Elfride  would  gladly  have  escaped  further  converse 
alone  with  him  that  night,  but  it  seemed  inevitable. 

Just  after  moonrise  they  left  the  house.  How  little 
any  expectation  of  the  moonlight  prospect — which  was 
the  ostensible  reason  of  their  pilgrimage — had  to  do 
with  Knight's  real  motive  in  getting  the  gentle  girl  again 
upon  his  arm,  Elfride  no  less  than  himself  well  knew. 


XXXII 

'  Had  I  wist  before  I  kist' 

It  was  now  October,  and  the  night  air  was  chill.  After 
looking  to  see  that  she  was  well  wrapped  up,  Knight 
took  her  along  the  hillside  path  they  had  ascended  so 
many  times  in  each  other's  company,  when  doubt  was  a 
thing  unknown.  On  reaching  the  church  they  found 
that  one  side  of  the  tower  was,  as  the  vicar  had  stated, 
entirely  removed,  and  lying  in  the  shape  of  rubbish  at 
their  feet.  The  tower  on  its  eastern  side  still  was  firm, 
and  might  have  withstood  the  shock  of  storms  and  the 
siege  of  battering  years  for  many  a  generation  even  now. 
They  entered  by  the  side-door,  went  eastward,  and  sat 
down  by  the  altar-steps. 

The  heavy  arch  spanning  the  junction  of  tower  and 
nave  formed  to-night  a  black  frame  to  a  distant  misty 
view,  stretching  far  westward.  Just  outside  the  arch 
came  the  heap  of  fallen  stones,  then  a  portion  of  moon- 
lit churchyard,  then  the  wide  and  convex  sea  behind. 
It  was  a  coup-ifoeil  which  had  never  been  possible  since 
the  mediaeval  masons  first  attached  the  old  tower  to 
the  older  church  it  dignified,  and  hence  must  be  sup- 
posed to  have  had  an  interest  apart  from  that  of  simple 
moonlight  on  ancient  wall  and  sea  and  shore — any 
374 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

mention  of  which  has  by  this  time,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
become  one  of  the  cuckoo-cries  which  are  heard  but 
not  regarded.  Rays  of  crimson,  blue,  and  purple  shone 
upon  the  twain  from  the  east  window  behind  them, 
wherein  saints  and  angels  vied  with  each  other  in 
primitive  surroundings  of  landscape  and  sky,  and  threw 
upon  the  pavement  at  the  sitters'  feet  a  softer  repro- 
duction of  the  same  translucent  hues,  amid  which  the 
shadows  of  the  two  living  heads  of  Knight  and  Elfride 
were  opaque  and  prominent  blots.  Presently  the  moon 
became  covered  by  a  cloud,  and  the  iridescence  died 
away. 

'  There,  it  is  gone ! '  said  Knight.  *  I've  been 
thinking,  Elfride,  that  this  place  we  sit  on  is  where 
we  may  hope  to  kneel  together  soon.  But  I  am  restless 
and  uneasy,  and  you  know  why.' 

Before  she  replied  the  moonlight  returned  again, 
irradiating  that  portion  of  churchyard  within  their  view. 
It  brightened  the  near  part  first,  and  against  the  back- 
ground which  the  cloud-shadow  had  not  yet  uncovered' 
stood,  brightest  of  all,  a  white  tomb — the  tomb  of  young 
Jethway. 

Knight,  still  alive  on  the  subject  of  Elfride's  secret, 
thought  of  her  words  concerning  the  kiss — that  it  once 
had  occurred  on  a  tomb  in  this  churchyard. 

'  Elfride,'  he  said,  with  a  superficial  archness  which 
did  not  half  cover  an  undercurrent  of  reproach,  *do 
you  know,  I  think  you  might  have  told  me  voluntarily 
about  that  past — of  kisses  and  betrothing  —  without 
giving  me  so  much  uneasiness  and  trouble.  Was  that 
the  tomb  you  alluded  to  as  having  sat  on  with  him  ? ' 

She  waited  an  instant.     *  Yes,'  she  said. 

The  correctness  of  his  random  shot  startled  Knight ; 
though,  considering  that  almost  all  the  other  memorials 
in  the  churchyard  were  upright  headstones  upon  which 
nobody  could  possibly  sit,  it  was  not  so  wonderful. 

Elfride  did  not  even  now  go  on  with  the  explanation 
375 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

her  exacting  lover  wished  to  have,  and  her  reticence 
began  to  irritate  him  as  before.  He  was  incUned  to 
read  her  a  lecture. 

'Why  don't  you  tell  me  all?'  he  said  somewhat 
indignantly.  '  Elfride,  there  is  not  a  single  subject 
upon  which  I  feel  more  strongly  than  upon  this — 
that  everything  ought  to  be  cleared  up  between  two 
persons  before  they  become  husband  and  wife.  See 
how  desirable  and  wise  such  a  course  is,  in  order  to 
avoid  disagreeable  contingencies  in  the  form  of  dis- 
coveries afterwards.  For,  Elfride,  a  secret  of  no  im- 
portance at  all  may  be  made  the  basis  of  some  fatal 
misunderstanding  only  because  it  is  discovered,  and 
not  confessed.  They  say  there  never  was  a  couple  of 
whom  one  had  not  some  secret  the  other  never  knew 
or  was  intended  to  know.  This  may  or  may  not  be 
true ;  but  if  it  be  true,  some  have  been  happy  in  spite 
rather  than  in  consequence  of  it.  If  a  man  were  to 
see  another  man  looking  significantly  at  his  wife,  and 
she  were  blushing  crimson  and  appearing  startled,  do 
you  think  he  would  be  so  well  satisfied  with,  for 
instance,  her  truthful  explanation  that  once,  to  her 
great  annoyance,  she  accidentally  fainted  into  his  arms, 
as  if  she  had  said  it  voluntarily  long  ago,  before  the 
circumstance  occurred  which  forced  it  from  her  ?  Sup- 
pose that  admirer  you  spoke  of  in  connection  with  the 
tomb  yonder  should  turn  up,  and  bother  me.  It  would 
embitter  our  lives,  if  I  were  then  half  in  the  dark,  as 
I  am  now ! ' 

Knight  spoke  the  latter  sentences  with  growing 
force. 

*  It  cannot  be,'  she  said. 

'  Why  not  ?  '  he  asked  sharply. 

Elfride  was  distressed  to  find  him  in  so  stern  a 
mood,  and  she  trembled.  In  a  confusion  of  ideas, 
probably  not  intending  a  wilful  prevarication,  she 
answered  hurriedly — 

376 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  If  he's  dead,  how  can  you  meet  him  ?  ' 

*  Is  he  dead  ?  Oh,  that's  different  altogether  ! '  said 
Knight,  immensely  relieved.  '  But,  let  me  see—  what 
did  you  say  about  that  tomb  and  him  ? ' 

'  That's  his  tomb,'  she  continued  faintly. 

'  What !  was  he  who  lies  buried  there  the  man  who 
was  your  lover  ? '  Knight  asked  in  a  distinct  voice. 

'  Yes ;  and  I  didn't  love  him  or  encourage  him.' 

'  But  you  let  him  kiss  you — you  said  so,  you  know, 
Elfride.' 

She  made  no  reply. 

'  Why,'  said  Knight,  recollecting  circumstances  by 
degrees,  '  you  surely  said  you  were  in  some  degree 
engaged  to  him — and  of  course  you  were  if  he  kissed 
you.  And  now  you  say  you  never  encouraged  him. 
And  I  have  been  fancying  you  said — I  am  almost  sure 
you  did — that  you  were  sitting  with  him  on  that  tomb. 
Good  God ! '  he  cried,  suddenly  starting  up  i;i  anger, 
*  are  you  telling  me  untruths  ?  Why  should  you  play 
with  me  like  this  ?  I'll  have  the  right  of  it.  Elfride, 
we  shall  never  be  happy !  There's  a  blight  upon  us,  or 
me,  or  you,  and  it  must  be  cleared  off  before  we  marry.* 
Knight  moved  away  impetuously  as  if  to  leave  her. 

She  jumped  up  and  clutched  his  arm. 

*  Don't  go,  Harry — don't ! 

'  Tell  me,  then,'  said  Knight  sternly.  '  And  re- 
member this,  no  more  fibs,  or,  upon  my  soul,  I  shall 
hate  you.  Heavens  !  that  I  should  come  to  this,  to  be 
made  a  fool  of  by  a  girl's  untruths ' 

'  Don't,  don't  treat  me  so  cruelly  !  O  Harry,  Harry, 
have  pity,  and  withdraw  those  dreadful  words  !  I  am 
truthful  by  nature — I  am — and  I  don't  know  how  I 
came  to  make  you  misunderstand !  But  I  was 
frightened !  "  She  quivered  so  in  her  perturbation  that 
she  shook  him  with  her. 

'  Did  you  say  you  were  sitting  on  that  tomb  ? '  he 
asked  moodily. 

377 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

*  Yes  ;  and  it  was  true.' 

'  Then  how,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  can  a  man  sit 
upon  his  own  tomb  ?  ' 

'  That  was  another  man.     Forgive  me,  Harry,  won't 

you?' 

*  What,  a  lover  in  the  tomb  and  a  lover  on  it  ? ' 
<  Oh— Oh— yes  ! ' 

'  Then  there  were  two  before  me  ? ' 

*  I — suppose  so.' 

*  Now,  don't  be  a  silly  woman  with  your  supposing 
— I  hate  all  that,'  said  Knight  contemptuously  almost. 
<  Well,  we  learn  strange  things.  I  don't  know  what  I 
might  have  done — no  man  can  say  into  what  shape 
circumstances  may  warp  him — but  I  hardly  think  I 
should  have  had  the  conscience  to  accept  the  favours 
of  a  new  lover  whilst  sitting  over  the  poor  remains  of 
the  old  one;  upon  my  soul,  I  don't.'  Knight,  in 
moody  meditation,  continued  looking  towards  the  tomb, 
which  stood  staring  them  in  the  face  like  an  avenging 
ghost. 

*  But  you  wrong  me — Oh,  so  grievously !  "  she  cried. 
*  I  did  not  meditate  any  such  thing  :  believe  me,  Harry, 
I  did  not.     It  only  happened  so — quite  of  itself.' 

*  Well,  I  suppose  you  didn't  intend  such  a  thing,'  he 
said.     '  Nobody  ever  does,'  he  sadly  continued. 

*  And  him  in  the  grave  I  never  once  loved.' 

*  I  suppose  the  second  lover  and  you,  as  you  sat 
there,  vowed  to  be  faithful  to  each  other  for  ever  ? ' 

Elfride  only  replied  by  quick  heavy  breaths,  showing 
she  was  on  the  brink  of  a  sob. 

*You  don't  choose  to  be  anything  but  reserv^ed, 
then  ? '  he  said  imperatively. 

*  Of  course  we  did,'  she  responded. 

*  "  Of  course  !  "  You  seem  to  treat  the  subject  very 
lightly?' 

*  It  is  past,  and  is  nothing  to  us  now.' 

♦Elfride,  it  is  a  nothing  which,  though  it  may  make 
378 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

a  careless  man  laugh,  cannot  but  make  a  genuine  one 
grieve.  It  is  a  very  gnawing  pain.  Tell  me  straight 
through — all  of  it.' 

*  Never.  O  Harry !  how  can  you  expect  it  when  so 
little  of  it  makes  you  so  harsh  with  me  ?  ' 

*  Now,  Elfride,  listen  to  this.  You  know  that  what 
you  have  told  only  jars  the  subtler  fancies  in  one,  after 
all.  The  feeling  I  have  about  it  would  be  called,  and 
is,  mere  sentimentality;  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
suppose  that  an  ordinary  previous  engagement  of  a 
straightforward  kind  would  make  any  practical  difference 
in  my  love,  or  my  wish  to  make  you  my  wife.  But  you 
seem  to  have  more  to  tell,  and  that's  where  the  wrong 
is.     Is  there  more  ?  ' 

'  Not  much  more,'  she  wearily  answered. 

Knight  preserved  a  grave  silence  for  a  minute. 
*  "  Not  much  more,"  '  he  said  at  last.  *  I  should  think 
not,  indeed ! '  His  voice  assumed  a  low  and  steady 
pitch.  *  Elfride,  you  must  not  mind  my  saying  a 
strange-sounding  thing,  for  say  it  I  shall.  It  is  this  : 
that  if  there  were  much  more  to  add  to  an  account 
which  already  includes  all  the  particulars  that  a  broken 
marriage  engagement  could  possibly  include  with  pro- 
priety, it  must  be  some  exceptional  thing  which  might 
make  it  impossible  for  me  or  any  one  else  to  love  you 
and  marry  you ' 

Knight's  disturbed  mood  led  him  much  further  than 
he  would  have  gone  in  a  quieter  moment.  And,  even 
as  it  was,  had  she  been  assertive  to  any  degree  he  would 
not  have  been  so  peremptory;  and  had  she  been  a 
stronger  character — more  practical  and  less  imaginative — 
she  would  have  made  more  use  of  her  position  in  his 
heart  to  influence  him.  But  the  confiding  tenderness 
which  had  won  him  is  ever  accompanied  by  a  sort  of 
self-committal  to  the  stream  of  events,  leading  every 
such  woman  to  trust  more  to  the  kindness  of  fate  for 
good  results  than  to  any  argument  of  her  own. 
379 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

« Well,  well/  he  murmured  cynically ;  *  I  won't  say 
it  is  your  fault  :  it  is  my  ill-luck,  I  suppose.  I  had  no 
real  right  to  question  you — everybody  would  say  it  was 
presuming.  But  when  we  have  misunderstood,  we  feel 
injured  by  the  subject  of  our  misunderstanding.  You 
never  said  you  had  had  nobody  else  here  making  love 
to  you,  so  why  should  I  blame  you  ?  Elfride,  I  beg 
your  pardon.' 

'  No,  no !  I  would  rather  have  your  anger  than 
that  cool  aggrieved  politeness.  Do  drop  that,  Harry ! 
Why  should  you  inflict  that  upon  me  ?  It  reduces  me 
to  the  level  of  a  mere  acquaintance.' 

*You  do  that  with  me.  Why  not  confidence  for 
confidence  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  but  I  didn't  ask  you  a  single  question  with 
regard  to  your  past :  I  didn't  wish  to  know  about  it. 
All  I  cared  for  was  that,  wherever  you  came  from,  what- 
ever you  had  done,  whoever  you  had  loved,  you  were 
mine  at  last.  Harry,  if  originally  you  had  known  I  had 
loved,  would  you  never  have  cared  for  me  ? ' 

'  I  won't  quite  say  that.  Though  I  own  that  the 
idea  of  your  inexperienced  state  had  a  great  charm  for 
me.  But  I  think  this  :  that  if  I  had  known  there  was 
any  phase  of  your  past  love  you  would  refuse  to  reveal 
if  I  asked  to  know  it,  I  should  never  have  loved  you.' 

Elfride  sobbed  bitterly.  '  Am  I  such  a — mere  char- 
acterless toy — as  to  have  no  attrac — tion  in  me,  apart 
from — freshness  ?  Haven't  I  brains  ?  You  said — I 
was  clever  and  ingenious  in  my  thoughts,  and — isn't 
that  anything  ?  Have  I  not  some  beauty  ?  I  think  I 
have  a  little — and  I  know  I  have — yes,  I  do !  You 
have  praised  my  voice,  and  my  manner,  and  my  accom- 
plishments. Yet  all  these  together  are  so  much  rubbish 
because  I — accidentally  saw  a  man  before  you  ! ' 

'  Oh,  come,  Elfride.  "  Accidentally  saw  a  man  "  is 
very  cool.     You  loved  him,  remember.' 

— *  And  loved  him  a  little  ! ' 
380 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*  And  refuse  now  to  answer  the  simple  question  how 
it  ended.     Do  you  refuse  still,  Elfride  ?  ' 

*  You  have  no  right  to  question  me  so — you  said  so. 
It  is  unfair.     Trust  me  as  I  trust  you.' 

*  That's  not  at  all.' 

*  I  shall  not  love  you  if  you  are  so  cruel.  It  is  cruel 
to  me  to  argue  like  this.' 

'  Perhaps  it  is.  Yes,  it  is.  I  was  carried  away  by 
my  feeling  for  you.  Heaven  knows  that  I  didn't  mean 
to;  but  I  have  loved  you  so  that  I  have  used  you 
badly.' 

*  I  don't  mind  it,  Harry ! '  she  instantly  answered, 
creeping  up  and  nestling  against  him ;  *  and  I  will  not 
think  at  all  that  you  used  me  harshly  if  you  will  forgive 
me,  and  not  be  vexed  with  me  any  more  ?  I  do  wish  I 
had  been  exactly  as  you  thought  I  was,  but  I  could  not 
help  it,  you  know.  If  I  had  only  known  you  had 
been  coming,  what  a  nunnery  I  would  have  lived  in  to 
have  been  good  enough  for  you  ! ' 

'  Well,  never  mind,'  said  Knight ;  and  he  turned  to 
go.  He  endeavoured  to  speak  sportively  as  they  went 
on.  '  Diogenes  Laertius  says  that  philosophers  used 
voluntarily  to  deprive  themselves  of  sight  to  be  uninter- 
rupted in  their  meditations.  Men,  becoming  lovers, 
ought  to  do  the  same  thing.' 

'  Why  ? — but  never  mind — I  don't  want  to  know. 
Don't  speak  laconically  to  me,'  she  said  with  depreca- 
tion. 

'  Why  ?  Because  they  would  never  then  be  dis- 
tracted by  discovering  their  idol  was  second-hand.' 

She  looked  down  and  sighed;  and  they  passed  out 
of  the  crumbling  old  place,  and  slowly  crossed  to  the 
churchyard  entrance.  Knight  was  not  himself,  and  he 
could  not  pretend  to  be.     She  had  not  told  all. 

He  supported  her  lightly  over  the  stile,  and  was 
practically  as  attentive  as  a  lover  could  be.  But  there 
had  passed  away  a  glory,  and  the  dream  was  not  as 
381 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

it  had  been  of  yore.  Perhaps  Knight  was  not  shaped 
by  Nature  for  a  marrying  man.  Perhaps  his  hfelong 
constraint  towards  women,  which  he  had  attributed 
to  accident,  was  not  chance  after  all,  but  the  natural 
result  of  instinctive  acts  so  minute  as  to  be  undis- 
cernible  even  by  himself.  Or  whether  the  rough  dis- 
pelling of  any  bright  illusion,  however  imaginative, 
depreciates  the  real  and  unexaggerated  brightness  which 
appertains  to  its  basis,  one  cannot  say.  Certain  it  was 
that  Knight's  disappointment  at  finding  himself  second 
or  third  in  the  field,  at  Elfride's  momentary  equivoque, 
and  at  her  reluctance  to  be  candid,  brought  him  to  the 
verge  of  cynicismo 


XXXIII 

•O  daughter  of  Babylon,  wasted  with  misery.' 

A  HABIT  of  Knight's,  when  not  immediately  occupied 
with  Elfride — to  walk  by  himself  for  half  an  hour  or  so 
between  dinner  and  bedtime — had  become  familiar  to 
his  friends  at  Endelstow,  Elfride  herself  among  them. 
When  he  had  helped  her  over  the  stile,  she  said  gently, 
*  If  you  wish  to  take  your  usual  turn  on  the  hill,  Harry, 
I  can  run  down  to  the  house  alone.' 

*  Thank  you,  Elfie ;  then  I  think  I  will' 
Her  form  diminished  to  blackness  in  the  moonlight, 
and  Knight,  after  remaining  upon  the  churchyard  stile 
a  few  minutes  longer,  turned  back  again  towards  the 
building.  His  usual  course  was  now  to  light  a  cigar  or 
pipe,  and  indulge  in  a  quiet  meditation.  But  to-night 
his  mind  was  too  tense  to  bethink  itself  of  such  a  solace. 
He  merely  walked  round  to  the  site  of  the  fallen  tower, 
and  sat  himself  down  upon  some  of  the  large  stones 
which  had  composed  it  until  this  day,  when  the  chain 
of  circumstance  originated  by  Stephen  Smith,  while  in 
the  employ  of  Mr.  Hewby,  the  London  man  of  art,  had 
brought  about  its  overthrow. 

Pondering  on  the  possible  episodes  of  Elfride's  past 
life,  and  on  how  he  had  supposed  her  to  have  had  no 
383 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

past  justifying  the  name,  he  sat  and  regarded  the  white 
tomb  of  young  Jethway,  now  close  in  front  of  him.  The 
sea,  though  comparatively  placid,  could  as  usual  be 
heard  from  this  point  along  the  whole  distance  between 
promontories  to  the  right  and  left,  floundering  and 
entangling  itself  among  the  insulated  stacks  of  rock 
which  dotted  the  water's  edge — the  miserable  skeletons 
of  tortured  old  cliifs  that  would  not  even  yet  succumb 
to  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  tides. 

As  a  change  from  thoughts  not  of  a  very  cheerful 
kind,  Knight  attempted  exertion.  He  stood  up,  and 
prepared  to  ascend  to  the  summit  of  the  ruinous  heap 
of  stones,  from  which  a  more  extended  outlook  was 
obtainable  than  from  the  ground.  He  stretched  out 
his  arm  to  seize  the  projecting  arris  of  a  larger  block 
than  ordinary,  and  so  help  himself  up,  when  his  hand 
lighted  plump  upon  a  substance  differing  in  the  greatest 
possible  degree  from  what  he  had  expected  to  seize — 
hard  stone.  It  was  stringy  and  entangled,  and  trailed 
upon  the  stone.  The  deep  shadow  from  the  aisle  wall 
prevented  his  seeing  anything  here  distinctly,  and  he 
began  guessing  as  a  necessity.  '  It  is  a  tressy  species 
of  moss  or  lichen,'  he  said  to  himself. 

But  it  lay  loosely  over  the  stone. 

*  It  is  a  tuft  of  grass,'  he  said. 

But  it  lacked  the  roughness  and  humidity  oC  the 
finest  grass. 

'  It  is  a  mason's  whitewash-brush.' 

Such  brushes,  he  remembered,  were  more  bristly; 
and  however  much  used  in  repairing  a  structure,  would 
not  be  required  in  puUing  one  down. 

He  said,  *  It  must  be  a  thready  silk  fringe.* 

He  felt  further  in.  It  was  somewhat  warm.  Knight 
instantly  felt  somewhat  cold. 

To  find  the  coldness  of  inanimate  matter  where  you 
expect  warmth  is  startling  enough;  but  a  colder  tempera- 
ture than  that  of  the  body  being  rather  the  rule  than 
384 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE    EYES 

the  exception  in  common  substances,  it  hardly  conveys 
such  a  shock  to  the  system  as  finding  warmth  where 
utter  frigidity  is  anticipated. 

'  God  only  knows  what  it  is,'  he  said. 

He  felt  further,  and  in  the  course  of  a  minute  put 
his  hand  upon  a  human  head.  The  head  was  warm, 
but  motionless.  The  thready  mass  was  the  hair  of  the 
head — long  and  straggling,  showing  that  the  head  was 
a  woman's. 

Knight  in  his  perplexity  stood  still  for  a  moment, 
and  collected  his  thoughts.  The  vicar's  account  of  the 
fall  of  the  tower  was  that  the  workmen  had  been 
undermining  it  all  the  day,  and  had  left  in  the  evening 
intending  to  give  the  finishing  stroke  the  next  morning. 
Half  an  hour  after  they  had  gone  the  undermined  angle 
came  down.  The  woman  who  was  half  buried,  as  it 
seemed,  must  have  been  beneath  it  at  the  moment  of 
the  fall. 

Knight  leapt  up  and  began  endeavouring  to  remove 
the  rubbish  with  his  hands.  The  heap  overlying  the 
body  was  for  the  most  part  fine  and  dusty,  but  in 
immense  quantity.  It  would  be  a  saving  of  time  to 
run  for  assistance.  He  crossed  to  the  churchyard  wall, 
and  hastened  down  the  hill. 

A  little  way  down  an  intersecting  road  passed  over 
a  small  ridge,  which  now  showed  up  darkly  against  the 
moon,  and  this  road  here  formed  a  kind  of  notch  in 
the  sky-line.  At  the  moment  that  Knight  arrived  at 
the  crossing  he  beheld  a  man  on  this  eminence,  com- 
ing towards  him.  Knight  turned  aside  and  met  the 
stranger. 

'There  has  been  an  accident  at  the  church,'  said 
Knight,  without  preface.  'The  tower  has  fallen  on 
somebody,  who  has  been  lying  there  ever  since.  Will 
you  come  and  help  ?  ' 

'  That  I  will,'  said  the  man. 

*  It  is  a  woman,'  said  Knight,  as  they  hurried  back, 


A   PAIR  OF    BLUE   EYES 

'  and  I  think  we  two  are  enough  to  extricate  her.     Do 
you  know  of  a  shovel  ?  ' 

'The  grave-digging  shovels  are  about  somewhere. 
They  used  to  stay  in  the  tower.' 

*  And  there  must  be  some  belonging  to  the  workmen.' 

They  searched  about,  and  in  an  angle  of  the  porch 
found  three  carefully  stowed  away.  Going  round  to 
the  west  end  Knight  signified  the  spot  of  the  tragedy. 

'  We  ought  to  have  brought  a  lantern,'  he  exclaimed. 
'  But  we  may  be  able  to  do  without.'  He  set  to  work 
removing  the  superincumbent  mass. 

The  other  man,  who  looked  on  somewhat  helplessly 
at  first,  now  followed  the  example  of  Knight's  activity,, 
and  removed  the  larger  stones  which  were  mingled  with 
the  rubbish.  But  with  all  their  efforts  it  was  quite  ten 
minutes  before  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  creature 
could  be  extricated.  They  lifted  her  as  carefully  as 
they  could,  breathlessly  carried  her  to  Felix  Jethway's 
tomb,  which  was  only  a  few  steps  westward,  and  laid 
her  thereon. 

'  Is  she  dead  indeed  ?  '  said  the  stranger. 

'  She  appears  to  be,'  said  Knight.  *  Which  is  the 
nearest  house  ?     The  vicarage,  I  suppose,' 

'  Yes  ;  but  since  we  shall  have  to  call  a  surgeon  from 
Castle  Boterel,  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  carry  her 
in  that  direction,  instead  of  away  from  the  town.' 

'  And  is  it  not  much  further  to  the  first  house  we 
come  to  going  that  way,  than  to  the  vicarage  or  to  The 
Crags  ? ' 

'  Not  much,'  the  stranger  replied. 

'  Suppose  we  take  her  there,  then.  And  I  think  the 
best  way  to  do  it  would  be  thus,  if  you  don't  mind 
joining  hands  with  me.' 

'  Not  in  the  least ;  I  am  glad  to  assist.' 

Making  a  kind  of  cradle,  by  clasping   their  hands 
crosswise  under  the  inanimate  woman,  they  lifted  her, 
and  walked  on  side  by  side  down  a  path  indicated  by 
386 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

the    stranger,    who    appeared    to    know    the    locality 
well. 

*  I  had  been  sitting  in  the  church  for  nearly  an 
hour,'  Knight  resumed,  when  they  were  out  of  the 
churchyard.  '  Afterwards  I  walked  round  to  the  site  of 
the  fallen  tower,  and  so  found  her.  It  is  painful  to 
think  I  unconsciously  wasted  so  much  time  in  the  very 
presence  of  a  perishing,  flying  soul.' 

*  The  tower  fell  at  dusk,  did  it  not  ?  quite  two  hours 
ago,  I  think  ?  ' 

*  Yes.  She  must  have  been  there  alone.  What 
could  have  been  her  object  in  visiting  the  church- 
yard then  ? 

'  It  is  difficult  to  say.'  The  stranger  looked  inquir- 
ingly into  the  reclining  face  of  the  motionless  form  they 
bore.  '  Would  you  turn  her  round  for  a  moment,  so 
that  the  light  shines  on  her  face  ? '  he  said. 

They  turned  her  face  to  the  moon,  and  the  man 
looked  closer  into  her  features.  '  Why,  I  know  her ! ' 
he  exclaimed. 

*  Who  is  she  ?  * 

'  Mrs.  Jethway.  And  the  cottage  we  are  taking  her 
to  is  her  own.  She  is  a  widow ;  and  I  was  speaking 
to  her  only  this  afternoon.  I  was  at  Castle  Boterel 
post-office,  and  she  came  there  to  post  a  letter.  Poor 
soul !     Let  us  hurry  on.' 

*  Hold  my  wrist  a  little  tighter.  Was  not  that  tomb 
we  laid  her  on  the  tomb  of  her  only  son  ? ' 

*  Yes,  it  was.  Yes,  I  see  it  now.  She  was  there  to 
visit  the  tomb.  Since  the  death  of  that  son  she  has 
been  a  desolate,  desponding  woman,  always  bewailing 
him.  She  was  a  farmer's  wife,  very  well  educated — a 
governess  originally,  I  believe.' 

Knight's  heart  was  moved  to  sympathy.  His  own 
fortunes  seemed  in  some  strange  way  to  be  interwoven 
with  those  of  this  Jethway  family,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  Elfride  over  himself  and  the  unfortunate  son 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

of  that  house.  He  made  no  reply,  and  they  still 
walked  on. 

'  She  begins  to  feel  heavy,'  said  the  stranger,  breaking 
the  silence. 

'Yes,  she  does,'  said  Knight;  and  after  another 
pause  added,  '  I  think  I  have  met  you  before,  though 
where  I  cannot  recollect.     May  I  ask  who  you  are  ?  ' 

'  Oh  yes.     I  am  Lord  Luxellian.     Who  are  you  ?  ' 

<  I  am  a  visitor  at  The  Crags — Mr.  Knight.' 

'  I  have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Knight.' 

'  And  I  of  you.  Lord  Luxellian.  I  am  glad  to  meet 
you.' 

'  I  may  say  the  same.  I  am  famihar  with  your  name 
in  print.' 

'  And  I  with  yours.     Is  this  the  house  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

The  door  was  locked.  Knight,  reflecting  a  moment, 
searched  the  pocket  of  the  lifeless  woman,  and  found 
therein  a  large  key  which,  on  being  applied  to  the  door, 
opened  it  easily.  The  fire  was  out,  but  the  moonlight 
entered  the  quarried  window,  and  made  patterns  upon 
the  floor.  The  rays  enabled  them  to  see  that  the  room 
into  which  they  had  entered  was  pretty  well  furnished, 
it  being  the  same  room  that  Elfride  had  visited  alone 
two  or  three  evenings  earlier.  They  deposited  their 
still  burden  on  an  old-fashioned  couch  which  stood 
against  the  wall,  and  Knight  searched  about  for  a  lamp 
or  candle.  He  found  a  candle  on  a  shelf,  lighted  it, 
and  placed  it  on  the  table. 

Both  Knight  and  Lord  Luxellian  examined  the  pale 
countenance  attentively,  and  both  were  nearly  con- 
vinced that  there  was  no  hope.  No  marks  of  violence 
were  visible  in  the  casual  examination  they  made. 

'  I  think  that  as  I  know  where  Doctor  Granson 
lives,'  said  Lord  Luxellian,  '  I  had  better  run  for  him 
whilst  you  stay  here.' 

Knight  agreed  to  this.  Lord  Luxellian  then  went 
388 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

off,  and  his  hurrying  footsteps  died  away.  Knight 
continued  bending  over  the  body,  and  a  few  minutes 
longer  of  careful  scrutiny  perfectly  satisfied  him  that 
the  woman  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  the  lancet  and 
the  drug.  Her  extremities  were  already  beginning  to 
get  stiff  and  cold.  Knight  covered  her  face,  and 
sat  down. 

The  minutes  went  by.  The  essayist  remained 
musing  on  all  the  occurrences  of  the  night.  His  eyes 
were  directed  upon  the  table,  and  he  had  seen  for  some 
time  that  writing-materials  were  spread  upon  it.  He 
now  noticed  these  more  particularly :  there  were  an 
inkstand,  pen,  blotting-book,  and  note-paper.  Several 
sheets  of  paper  were  thrust  aside  from  the  rest,  upon 
which  letters  had  been  begun  and  relinquished,  as  if 
their  form  had  not  been  satisfactory  to  the  writer. 
A  stick  of  black  sealing-wax  and  seal  were  there  too,  as 
if  the  ordinary  fastening  had  not  been  considered  suffi- 
ciently secure.  The  abandoned  sheets  of  paper  lying 
as  they  did  open  upon  the  table,  made  it  possible,  as 
he  sat,  to  read  the  few  words  written  on  each.  One 
ran  thus  : 

*  Sir, — As  a  woman  who  was  once  blest  with  a  dear 
son  of  her  own,  I  implore  you  to  accept  a  warning ' 

Another : 

'  Sir, — If  you  will  deign  to  receive  warning  from  a 
stranger  before  it  is  too  late  to  alter  your  course,  listen 
to ' 

The  third : 

*  Sir, — With  this  letter  I  enclose  to  you  another 
which,  unaided  by  any  explanation  from  me,  tells  a 
startling  tale.  I  wish,  however,  to  add  a  few  words  to 
make  your  delusion  3'et  more  clear  to  you ' 

389 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

It  was  plain  that,  after  these  renounced  beginnings, 
a  fourth  letter  had  been  written  and  despatched,  which 
had  been  deemed  a  proper  one.  Upon  the  table  were 
two  drops  of  sealing-wax,  the  stick  from  which  they 
were  taken  having  been  laid  down  overhanging  the  edge 
of  the  table ;  the  end  of  it  drooped,  showing  that  the 
wax  was  placed  there  whilst  warm.  There  was  the 
chair  in  which  the  writer  had  sat,  the  impression  of  the 
letter's  address  upon  the  blotting-paper,  and  the  poor 
widow  who  had  caused  these  results  lying  dead  hard  by. 
Knight  had  seen  enough  to  lead  him  to  the  conclusion 
that  Mrs.  Jethway,  having  matter  of  great  importance  to 
communicate  to  some  friend  or  acquaintance,  had  written 
him  a  very  careful  letter,  and  gone  herself  to  post  it ; 
that  she  had  not  returned  to  the  house  from  that  time 
of  leaving  it  till  Lord  Luxellian  and  himself  had  brought 
her  back  dead. 

The  unutterable  melancholy  of  the  whole  scene,  as 
he  waited  on,  silent  and  alone,  did  not  altogether  clash 
with  the  mood  of  Knight,  even  though  he  was  the 
affianced  of  a  fair  and  winning  girl,  and  though  so  lately 
he  had  been  in  her  company.  Whilst  sitting  on  the 
remains  of  the  demolished  tower  he  had  defined  a  new 
sensation;  that  the  lengthened  course  of  inaction  he 
had  lately  been  indulging  in  on  Elfride's  account  might 
probably  not  be  good  for  him  as  a  man  who  had  work 
to  do.  It  could  quickly  be  put  an  end  to  by  hastening 
on  his  marriage  with  her. 

Knight,  in  his  own  opinion,  was  one  who  had  missed 
his  mark  by  excessive  aiming.  Having  now,  to  a  great 
extent,  given  up  ideal  ambitions,  he  wished  earnestly  to 
direct  his  powers  into  a  more  practical  channel,  and 
thus  correct  the  introspective  tendencies  which  had 
never  brought  himself  much  happiness,  or  done  his 
fellow-creatures  any  great  good.  To  make  a  start  in 
this  new  direction  by  marriage,  which,  since  knowing 
Elfride,  had  been  so  entrancing  an  idea,  was  less  ex- 
390 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

quisite  to-night.  That  the  curtailment  of  his  illusion 
regarding  her  had  something  to  do  with  the  reaction, 
and  with  the  return  of  his  old  sentiments  on  wasting 
time,  is  more  than  probable.  Though  Knight's  heart 
had  so  greatly  mastered  him,  the  mastery  was  not  so 
complete  as  to  be  easily  maintained  in  the  face  of  a 
moderate  intellectual  revival. 

His  reverie  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  wheels,  and 
a  horse's  tramp.  The  door  opened  to  admit  the 
surgeon.  Lord  Luxellian,  and  a  Mr.  Coole,  coroner  for 
the  division  (who  had  been  attending  at  Castle  Boterel 
that  very  day,  and  was  having  an  after-dinner  chat  with 
the  doctor  when  Lord  Luxellian  arrived);  next  came 
two  female  nurses  and  some  idlers. 

Mr.  Granson,  after  a  cursory  examination,  pro- 
nounced the  woman  dead  from  suffocation,  induced  by 
intense  pressure  on  the  respiratory  organs  ;  and  arrange- 
ments were  made  that  the  inquiry  should  take  place  on 
the  following  morning,  before  the  return  of  the  coroner 
to  St.  Launce's. 

Shortly  afterwards  the  house  of  the  widow  was  de- 
serted by  all  its  living  occupants,  and  she  abode  in 
death,  as  she  had  in  her  life  during  the  past  two  years, 
entirely  alone. 


XXXIV 

•  Yea,  happy  shall  he  be  that  rewardeth  thee  as  thou  hast  served  us.' 

Sixteen  hours  had  passed.  Knight  was  entering 
the  ladies'  boudoir  at  The  Crags,  upon  his  return 
from  attending  the  inquest  touching  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Jethway.     Elfride  was  not  in  the  apartment. 

Mrs.  Swancourt  made  a  few  inquiries  concerning  the 
verdict  and  collateral  circumstances.     Then  she  said — 

'  The  postman  came  this  morning  the  minute  after 
you  left  the  house.  There  was  only  one  letter  for  you, 
and  I  have  it  here.' 

She  took  a  letter  from  the  lid  of  her  workbox,  and 
handed  it  to  him.  Knight  took  the  missive  abstractedly, 
but  struck  by  its  appearance  murmured  a  few  words 
and  left  the  room. 

The  letter  was  fastened  with  a  black  seal,  and  the 
handwriting  in  which  it  was  addressed  had  lain  under 
his  eyes,  long  and  prominently,  only  the  evening 
before. 

Knight  was  greatly  agitated,  and  looked  about  for 
a  spot  where  he  might  be  secure  from  interruption. 
It  was  the  season  of  heavy  dews,  which  lay  on  the 
herbage  in  shady  places  all  the  day  long ;  nevertheless, 
he  entered  a  small  patch  of  neglected  grass-plat  enclosed 
392 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

by  the  shrubbery,  and  there  perused  the  letter,  which 
he  had  opened  on  his  way  thither. 

The  handwriting,  the  seal,  the  paper,  the  introductory 
words,  all  had  told  on  the  instant  that  the  letter  had 
come  to  him  from  the  hands  of  the  widow  Jethway,  now 
dead  and  cold.  He  had  instantly  understood  that  the 
unfinished  notes  which  caught  his  eye  yesternight  were 
intended  for  nobody  but  himself.  He  had  remembered 
some  of  the  words  of  Elfride  in  her  sleep  on  the  steamer, 
that  somebody  was  not  to  tell  him  of  something,  or  it 
would  be  her  ruin— a  circumstance  hitherto  deem.ed  so 
trivial  and  meaningless  that  he  had  well-nigh  forgotten 
ft  All  these  things  infused  into  him  an  emotion  intense 
in  power  and  supremely  distressing  in  quality.  The 
paper  in  his  hand  quivered  as  he  read : 


•The  Valley,  Endelstow. 

'  Sir,—  a  woman  who  has  not  much  in  the  world 
to  lose  by  any  censure  this  act  may  bring  upon  her, 
wishes  to  give  you  some  hints  concerning  a  lady  you 
love.  If  you  will  deign  to  accept  a  warning  before  it 
is  too  late,  you  will  notice  what  your  correspondent 
has  to  say. 

'  You  are  deceived.  Can  such  a  woman  as  this  be 
worthy  ? 

'  One  who  encouraged  an  honest  youth  to  love  her, 
then  sHghted  him,  so  that  he  died. 

'  One  who  next  took  a  man  of  no  birth  as  a  lover, 
who  was  forbidden  the  house  by  her  father. 

'  One  who  secretly  left  her  home  to  be  married  to 
that  man,  met  him,  and  went  with  him  to  London. 

'  One  who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  returned  again 
unmarried. 

'  One  who,  in  her  after-correspondence  with  him, 
went  so  far  as  to  address  him  as  her  husband. 

'  One  who  wrote  the  enclosed  letter  to  ask  me,  who 
393 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

better  than  anybody  else  knows  the  story,  to  keep  the 
scandal  a  secret. 

'  I  hope  soon  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  either  blame 
or  praise.  But  before  removing  me  God  has  put  it  in 
my  power  to  avenge  the  death  of  my  son. 

'Gertrude  Jethway.' 

The  letter  enclosed  was  the  note  in  pencil  that 
Elfride  had  written  in  Mrs.  Jethway's  cottage : 

'  Dear  Mrs.  Jethway, — I  have  been  to  visit  you. 
I  wanted  much  to  see  you,  but  I  cannot  wait  any 
longer.  I  came  to  beg  you  not  to  execute  the  threats 
you  have  repeated  to  me.  Do  not,  I  beseech  you,  Mrs. 
Jethway,  let  any  one  know  I  ran  away  from  home !  It 
would  ruin  me  with  him,  and  break  my  heart.  I  will 
do  anything  for  you,  if  you  will  be  kind  to  me.  In 
the  name  of  our  common  womanhood,  do  not,  I  implore 
you,  make  a  scandal  of  me. — Yours, 

'E.  SWANCOURT.' 

Knight  turned  his  head  wearily  towards  the  house. 
The  ground  rose  rapidly  on  nearing  the  shrubbery  in 
which  he  stood,  raising  it  almost  to  a  level  with  the 
first  floor  of  The  Crags.  Elfride's  dressing-room  lay  in 
the  salient  angle  in  this  direction,  and  it  was  lighted  by 
two  windows  in  such  a  position  that,  from  Knight's 
standing-place,  his  sight  passed  through  both  windows, 
and  raked  the  room.  Elfride  was  there;  she  was 
pausing  between  the  two  window^,  looking  at  her  figure 
in  the  cheval-glass.  She  regarded  herself  long  and 
attentively  in  front;  turned,  flung  back  her  head,  and 
observed  the  reflection  over  her  shoulder. 

Nobody  can  predicate  as  to  her  object  or  fancy ;  she 
may  have  done  the  deed  in  the  very  abstraction  of  deep 
sadness.  She  may  have  been  moaning  from  the  bottom 
of  her  heart,  '  How  unhappy  am  I ! '  But  the  im- 
pression produced  on  Knight  was  not  a  good  one.     He 

394 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

dropped  his  eyes  moodily.  The  dead  woman's  letter 
had  a  virtue  in  the  accident  of  its  juncture  far  beyond 
any  it  intrinsically  exhibited.  Circumstance  lent  to 
evil  words  a  ring  of  pitiless  justice  echoing  from  the 
grave.  Knight  could  not  endure  their  possession.  He 
tore  the  letter  into  fragments. 

He  heard  a  brushing  among  the  bushes  behind,  and 
turning  his  head  he  saw  Elfride  following  him.  The 
fair  girl  looked  in  his  face  with  a  wistful  smile  of  hope, 
too  forcedly  hopeful  to  displace  the  firmly  established 
dread  beneath  it.  His  severe  words  of  the  previous 
night  still  sat  heavy  upon  her. 

'  I  saw  you  from  my  window,  Harry,'  she  said  timidly. 

'  The  dew  will  make  your  feet  wet,'  he  observed,  as 
one  deaf. 

'  I  don't  mind  it.' 

'  There  is  danger  in  getting  wet  feet.' 

'  Yes  .  .  .  Harry,  what  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

*  Oh,  nothing.  Shall  I  resume  the  serious  conversa- 
tion I  had  with  you  last  night  ?  No,  perhaps  not ; 
perhaps  I  had  better  not.' 

'  Oh,  I  cannot  tell !  How  wretched  it  all  is  !  Ah, 
I  wish  you  were  your  own  dear  self  again,  and  had 
kissed  me  when  I  came  up !  Why  didn't  you  ask  me 
for  one  ?  why  don't  you  now  ?  ' 

'  Too  free  in  manner  by  half,'  he  heard  murmur  the 
voice  within  him. 

'  It  was  that  hateful  conversation  last  night,'  she 
went  on.  '  Oh,  those  words  !  Last  night  was  a  black 
night  for  me.' 

*  Kiss  ! — I  hate  that  word  !  Don't  talk  of  kissing, 
for  God's  sake !  I  should  think  you  might  with  advan- 
tage have  shown  tact  enough  to  keep  back  that  word 
"  kiss,"  considering  those  you  have  accepted.' 

She    became    very    pale,    and  a  rigid  and  desolate 
charactery  took  possession  of  her  face.     That  face  was 
so  delicate  and  tender  in  appearance    now,    that    one 
395 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

could  fancy  the  pressure  of  a  finger  upon  it  would 
cause  a  livid  spot. 

Knight  walked  on,  and  Elfride  with  him,  silent  and 
unopposing.  He  opened  a  gate,  and  they  entered  a 
path  across  a  stubble-field. 

'  Perhaps  I  intrude  upon  you  ? '  she  said  as  he 
closed  the  gate.     '  Shall  I  go  away  ?  ' 

'  No.  Listen  to  me,  Elfride.'  Knight's  voice  was 
low  and  unequal.  '  I  have  been  honest  with  you  :  will 
you  be  so  with  me  ?  If  any — strange — connection  has 
existed  between  yourself  and  a  predecessor  of  mine,  tell 
it  now.  It  is  better  that  I  know  it  now,  even  though 
the  knowledge  should  part  us,  than  that  I  should 
discover  it  in  time  to  come.  And  suspicions  have 
been  awakened  in  me.  I  think  I  will  not  say  how,  be- 
cause I  despise  the  means.  A  discovery  of  any  mystery 
of  your  past  would  embitter  our  lives.' 

Knight  waited  with  a  slow  manner  of  calmness. 
His  eyes  were  sad  and  imperative.  They  went  farther 
along  the  path. 

<  Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  tell  you  all  ? '  she  ex- 
claimed entreatingly. 

*  I  can't  promise ;  so  much  depends  upon  what  you 
have  to  tell.' 

Elfride  could  not  endure  the  silence  which  followed. 

'  Are  you  not  going  to  love  me  ? '  she  burst  out. 
'  Harry,  Harry,  love  me,  and  speak  as  usual !  Do ;  I 
beseech  you,  Harry  ! ' 

*  Are  you  going  to  act  fairly  by  me  ? '  said  Knight, 
with  rising  anger ;  *  or  are  you  not  ?  What  have  I 
done  to  you  that  I  should  be  put  off  like  this  ?  Be 
caught  like  a  bird  in  a  springe ;  everything  intended  to 
be  hidden  from  me  !  Why  is  it,  Elfride  ?  That's  what 
I  ask  you.' 

In  their  agitation  they  had  left  the  path,  and  were 
wandering  among  the  wet  and  obstructive  stubble,  with- 
out knowing  or  heeding  it. 

396 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  AVhat  have  /  done  ? '  she  faltered. 

'  What  ?  How  can  you  ask  what,  when  you  know 
so  well  ?  You  know  that  I  have  designedly  been  kept 
in  ignorance  of  something  attaching  to  you,  which,  had 
I  known  of  it,  might  have  altered  all  my  conduct ;  and 
yet  you  say,  what  ?  ' 

She  drooped  visibly,  and  made  no  answer. 

*  Not  that  I  believe  in  malicious  letter-writers  and 
whisperers ;  not  I.  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  don't : 
upon  my  soul,  I  can't  tell.  I  know  this  :  a  religion 
was  building  itself  upon  you  in  my  heart.  I  looked 
into  your  eyes,  and  thought  I  saw  there  truth  and 
innocence  as  pure  and  perfect  as  ever  embodied  by 
God  in  the  flesh  of  woman.  Perfect  truth  is  too  much 
to  expect,  but  ordinary  truth  I  will  have  or  nothing  at 
all.  Just  say,  then  ;  is  the  matter  you  keep  back  of  the 
gravest  importance,  or  is  it  not  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  understand  all  your  meaning.  If  I  have 
hidden  anything  from  you,  it  has  been  because  I  loved 
you  so,  and  I  feared — feared — to  lose  you.' 

*  Since  you  are  not  given  to  confidence,  I  want  to  ask 
you  some  plain  questions.     Have  I  your  permission? ' 

'Yes,'  she  said,  and  there  came  over  her  face  a 
weary  resignation.  '  Say  the  harshest  words  you  can  ;  I 
will  bear  them  ! ' 

'  There  is  a  scandal  in  the  air  concerning  you, 
Elfride ;  and  I  cannot  even  combat  it  without  knowing 
definitely  what  it  is.  It  may  not  refer  to  you  entirely, 
or  even  at  all.'  Knight  trifled  in  the  very  bitterness  of 
his  feeling.  '  In  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution, 
Pariseau,  a  ballet-master,  was  beheaded  by  mistake  for 
Parisot,  a  captain  of  the  King's  Guard.  I  wish  there 
was  another  "  E.  Swancourt "  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Look  at  this.' 

He  handed  her  the  letter  she  had  written  and  left 
on  the  table  at  Mrs.  Jethway's.  She  looked  over  it 
vacantly. 

397 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

'  It  is  not  so  much  as  it  seems  ! '  she  pleaded.  '  It 
seems  wickedly  deceptive  to  look  at  now,  but  it  had  a 
much  more  natural  origin  than  you  think.  My  sole 
wish  was  not  to  endanger  our  love.  O  Harry  1  that 
was  all  my  idea.      It  was  not  much  harm.' 

'  Yes,  yes ;  but  independently  of  the  poor  miser- 
able creature's  remarks,  it  seems  to  imply — something 
wrong.' 

'  What  remarks  ?  ' 

'  Those  she  wrote  me — now  torn  to  pieces.  Elfride, 
did  you  run  away  with  a  man  you  loved  ? — that  was  the 
damnable  statement.  Has  such  an  accusation  life  in  it 
— really,  truly,  Elfride  ?  ' 

'  Yes,'  she  whispered. 

Knight's  countenance  sank.  'To  be  married  to 
him  ? '  came  huskily  from  his  lips. 

'Yes.  Oh,  forgive  me!  I  had  never  seen  you, 
Harry.' 

'  To  London  ?  ' 

'  Yes ;  but  I ' 

'  Answer  my  questions ;  say  nothing  else,  Elfride 
Did  you  ever  deliberately  try  to  marry  him  in  secret  ? ' 

'  No ;  not  deliberately.' 

'  But  did  you  do  it  ?  ' 

A  feeble  red  passed  over  her  face. 

'  Yes,'  she  said. 

'  And  after  that — did  you — write  to  him  as  your  hus- 
band ;  and  did  he  address  you  as  his  wife  ? ' 

'  Listen,  listen  !     It  was ' 

'  Do  answer  me ;  only  answer  me  ! ' 

'  Then,  yes,  we  did.'  Her  Ups  shook ;  but  it  was 
with  some  little  dignity  that  she  continued :  '  I  would 
gladly  have  told  you ;  for  I  knew  and  know  I  had  done 
wrong.  But  I  dared  not;  I  loved  you  too  well.  Oh, 
so  well !  You  have  been  everything  in  the  world  to  me 
— and  you  are  now.     Will  you  not  forgive  me  ?  ' 

It  is  a  melancholy  thought,  that  men  who  at  first 
398 


A   PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

will  not  allow  the  verdict  of  perfection  they  pronounce 
upon  their  sweethearts  or  wives  to  be  disturbed  by 
God's  own  testimony  to  the  contrary,  will,  once  suspect- 
ing their  purity,  morally  hang  them  upon  evidence  they 
would  be  ashamed  to  admit  in  judging  a  dog. 

The  reluctance  to  tell,  which  arose  from  Elfride's 
simplicity  in  thinking  herself  so  much  more  culpable 
than  she  really  was,  had  been  doing  fatal  work  in 
Knight's  mind.  The  man  of  many  ideas,  now  that  his 
first  dream  of  impossible  things  was  over,  vibrated  too 
far  in  the  contrary  direction ;  and  her  every  movement 
of  feature— every  tremor — every  confused  word — was 
taken  as  so  much  proof  of  her  unworthiness. 

*  Elfride,  we  must  bid  good-bye  to  compliment,'  said 
Knight :  '  we  must  do  without  politeness  now.  Look 
in  my  face,  and  as  you  believe  in  God  above,  tell  me 
truly  one  thing  more.     Were  you  away  alone  with  him?' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Did  you  return  home  the  same  day  on  which  you 
left  it  ? ' 

'No.' 

The  word  fell  like  a  bolt,  and  the  very  land  and  sky 
seemed  to  suffer.  Knight  turned  aside.  Meantime 
Elfride's  countenance  wore  a  look  indicating  utter 
despair  of  being  able  to  explain  matters  so  that  they 
would  seem  no  more  than  they  really  were,— a  despair 
which  not  only  relinquishes  the  hope  of  direct  expla- 
nation, but  wearily  gives  up  all  collateral  chances  of 
extenuation. 

The  scene  was  engraved  for  years  on  the  retina  of 
Knight's  eye :  the  dead  and  brown  stubble,  the  weeds 
among  it,  the  distant  belt  of  beeches  shutting  out  the 
view  of  the  house,  the  leaves  of  which  were  now  red  and 
sick  to  death. 

'  You  must  forget  me,'  he  said.  *  We  shall  not 
marry,  Elfride.' 

How  much  anguish  passed  into  her  soul  at  those 
399 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

words  from  him  was  told  by  the  look  of  supreme  torture 
she  wore. 

'  What  meaning  have  you,  Harry  ?  You  only  say 
so,  do  you  ?  ' 

She  looked  doubtingly  up  at  him,  and  tried  to  laugh, 
as  if  the  unreality  of  his  words  must  be  unquestionable. 

*  You  are  not  in  earnest,  I  know — I  hope  you  are 
not?  Surely  I  belong  to  you,  and  you  are  going  to 
keep  me  for  yours  ?  ' 

'  Elfride,  I  have  been  speaking  too  roughly  to  you ; 
I  have  said  what  I  ought  only  to  have  thought.  I  like 
you ;  and  let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice.  Marry 
your  man  as  soon  as  you  can.  However  weary  of  each 
other  you  may  feel,  you  belong  to  each  other,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  step  between  you.  Do  you  think  I  would 
— do  you  think  I  could  for  a  moment  ?  If  you  cannot 
marry  him  now,  and  another  makes  you  his  wife,  do  not 
reveal  this  secret  to  him  after  marriage,  if  you  do  not 
before.     Honesty  would  be  damnation  then.' 

Bewildered  by  his  expressions,  she  exclaimed — 

'  No,  no ;  I  will  not  be  a  wife  unless  I  am  yours ; 
and  I  must  be  yours  ! ' 

'  If  we  had  married ' 

_^  '  But  you  don't  mean — that — that — you  will  go  away 
and  leave  me,  and  not  be  anything  more  to  me — oh, 
you  don't ! ' 

Convulsive  sobs  took  all  nerve  out  of  her  utter- 
ance. She  checked  them,  and  continued  to  look  in  his 
face  for  the  ray  of  hope  that  was  not  to  be  found  there. 

'  I  am  going  indoors,'  said  Knight.  '  You  will  not 
follow  me,  Elfride ;  I  wish  you  not  to.' 

'  Oh  no ;  indeed,  I  will  not.' 

'  And  then  I  am  going  to  Castle  Boterel.    Good-bye.' 

He  spoke  the  farewell  as  if  it  were  but  for  the  day 

— lightly,  as  he  had  spoken  such  temporary  farewells 

many  times  before — and  she  seemed  to  understand  it 

as  such.     Knight  had  not  the  power  to  tell  her  plainly 

400 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

that  he  was  going  for  ever ;  he  hardly  knew  for  certain 
that  he  was  :  whether  he  should  rush  back  again  upon 
the  current  of  an  irresistible  emotion,  or  whether  he 
could  sufficiently  conquer  himself,  and  her  in  him,  to 
establish  that  parting  as  a  supreme  farewell,  and  present 
himself  to  the  world  again  as  no  woman's. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  had  left  the  house,  leaving 
directions  that  if  he  did  not  return  in  the  evening  his 
luggage  was  to  be  sent  to  his  chambers  in  London, 
whence  he  intended  to  write  to  Mr.  Swancourt  as  to  the 
reasons  of  his  sudden  departure.  He  descended  the 
valley,  and  could  not  forbear  turning  his  head.  He  saw 
the  stubble-field,  and  a  slight  girlish  figure  in, the  midst 
of  it — up  against  the  sky.  Elfride,  docile  as  ever,  had 
hardly  moved  a  step,  for  he  had  said.  Remain.  He 
looked  and  saw  her  again — he  saw  her  for  weeks  and 
months.  He  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  scene,  swept 
his  hand  across  them,  as  if  to  brush  away  the  sight, 
breathed  a  low  groan,  and  went  on. 


XXXV 

'  And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ?— say  nay— say  nay  I  * 

1  HE  scene  shifts  to  Knight's  chambers  in  Bede's  Inn. 
It  was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  day  following  his 
departure  from  Endelstow.  A  drizzling  rain  descended 
upon  London,  forming  a  humid  and  dreary  halo  over 
every  well-lighted  street.  The  rain  had  not  yet  been 
prevalent  long  enough  to  give  to  rapid  vehicles  that 
clear  and  distinct  rattle  which  follows  the  thorough 
washing  of  the  stones  by  a  drenching  rain,  but  was 
just  sufficient  to  make  footway  and  roadway  slippery, 
adhesive,  and  clogging  to  both  feet  and  wheels. 

Knight  was  standing  by  the  fire,  looking  into  its 
expiring  embers,  previously  to  emerging  from  his  door 
for  a  dreary  journey  home  to  Richmond.  His  hat  was 
on,  and  the  gas  turned  off.  The  blind  of  the  window 
overlooking  the  alley  was  not  drawn  downj  and  with 
the  light  from  beneath,  which  shone  over  the  ceiling 
of  the  room,  came,  in  place  of  the  usual  babble,  only 
the  reduced  clatter  and  quick  speech  which  were  the 
result  of  necessity  rather  than  choice. 

Whilst  he  thus  stood,  waiting  for  the  expiration 
of  the  few  minutes  that  were  wanting  to  the  time  for 
his  catching  the  train,  a  light  tapping  upon  the  door 
402 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

mingled  with  the  other  sounds  that  reached  his  ears. 
It  was  so  faint  at  first  that  the  outer  noises  were  almost 
sufficient  to  drown  it.  Finding  it  repeated  Knight 
crossed  the  lobby,  crowded  with  books  and  rubbish, 
and  opened  the  door. 

A  woman,  closely  muffled  up,  but  visibly  of  fragile 
build;  was  standing  on  the  landing  under  the  gaslight. 
She  sprang  forward,  flung  her  arms  round  Knight's 
neck,  and  uttered  a  low  cry — 

'  O  Harry,  Harry,  you  are  kiUing  me !  I  could  not 
help  coming.  Don't  send  me  away — don't !  Forgive 
your,Elfride  for  coming — I  love  you  so  ! ' 

knight's  agitation  and  astonishment  mastered  him 
for  a  few  moments. 

/■  '  Elfride  ! '  he  cried,  '  what  does  this  mean  ?  What 
have  you  done  ?  ' 

'Do  not  hurt  me  and  punish  me — Oh,  do  not! 
I  couldn't  help  coming :  it  was  killing  me.  Last 
night,  when  you  did  not  come  back,  I  could  not  bear 
it — I  could  notP  Only  let  me  be  with  you,  and  see 
your  face,  Harry ;  I  don't  ask  for  more.' 

Her  eyelid<S  were  hot,  heavy,  and  thick  with  excessive 
weeping,  and  \he  delicate  rose-red  of  her  cheeks  was 
disfigured  and\nflamed  by  the  constant  chafing  of  the 
handkerchief  in  Viping  her  many  tears. 

'  Who  is  with  you  ?  Have  you  come  alone  ?  '  he 
hurriedly  inquired. 

*  Yes.  When  you  did  not  come  last  night,  I  sat  up 
hoping  you  would  come — and  the  night  was  all  agony 
— and  I  waited  on  and  on,  and  you  did  not  come ! 
Then  when  it  was  morning,  and  your  letter  said  you 
were  gone,  I  could  not  endure  it ;  and  I  ran  away  from 
them  to  St.  Launce's,  and  came  by  the  train.  And 
I  have  been  all  day  travelling  to  you,  and  you  won't 
make  me  go  away  again,  will  you,  Harry,  because  I 
shall  always  love  you  till  I  die  ? ' 

'  Yet  it  is  wrong  for  you  to  stay.     O  Elfride  !  what 
403 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

have  you  committed  yourself  to  ?  It  is  ruin  to  your  good 
name  to  run  to  me  like  this  !  Has  not  your  first  expe- 
rience been  sufficient  to  keep  you  from  these  things  ? ' 

'  My  name !  Harry,  I  shall  soon  die,  and  what 
good  will  my  name  be  to  me  then  ?  Oh,  could  /  but 
be  the  man  and  you  the  woman,  I  would  not  leave  you 
for  such  a  Httle  fault  as  mine !  Do  not  think  it  was 
so  vile  a  thing  in  me  to  run  away  with  him.  Ah,  how 
I  wish  you  could  have  run  away  with  twenty  women 
before  you  knew  me,  that  I  might  show  you  I  would 
think  it  nO  fault,  but  be  glad  to  get  you  after  them  all, 
so  that  I  had  you  !  If  you  only  knew  me  through  and 
through,  how  true  I  am,  Harry.  Cannot  I  be  yours  ? 
Say  you  love  me  just  the  same,  and  don't  let  me  be 
separated  from  you  again,  will  you  ?  I  cannot  bear 
it — all  the  long  hours  and  days  and  nights  going  on, 
and  you  not  there,  but  away  because  you  hate  me ! ' 

'  Not  hate  you,  Elfride,'  he  said  gently,  and  supported 
her  with  his  arm.  '  But  you  cannot  stay  here  now — 
just  at  present,  I  mean.' 

'  I  suppose  I  must  not — I  wish  I  might.  I  am 
afraid  that  if — you  lose  sight  of  me — something  dark 
will  happen,  and  we  shall  not  meet  again.  Harry,  if  I 
am  not  good  enough  to  be  your  wife,  I  wish  I  could  be 
your  servant  and  live  with  you,  and  not  be  sent  away 
never  to  see  you  again.  I  don't  mind  what  it  is  except 
that ! ' 

'  No,  I  cannot  send  you  away :  I  cannot.  God 
knows  what  dark  future  may  arise  out  of  this  evening's 
work ;  but  I  cannot  send  you  away !  You  must  sit 
down,  and  I  will  endeavour  to  collect  my  thoughts  and 
see  what  had  better  be  done.' 

At  that  moment  a  loud  knocking  at  the  house  door 
was  heard  by  both,  accompanied  by  a  hurried  ringing  of 
the  bell  that  echoed  from  attic  to  basement.  The  door 
was  quickly  opened,  and  after  a  few  hasty  words  of  con- 
verse in  the  hall,  heavy  footsteps  ascended  the  stairs. 
404 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

The  face  of  Mr.  Swancourt,  flushed,  grieved,  and 
stern,  appeared  round  the  landing  of  the  staircase.  He 
came  higher  up,  and  stood  beside  them.  Glancing  over 
and  past  Knight  with  silent  indignation,  he  turned  to 
the  trembling  girl. 

*  O  Elfride !  and  have  I  found  you  at  last  ?  Are 
these  your  tricks,  madam  ?  When  will  you  get  rid  of 
your  idiocies,  and  conduct  yourself  like  a  decent  woman  ? 
Is  my  family  name  and  house  to  be  disgraced  by  acts 
that  would  be  a  scandal  to  a  washerwoman's  daughter  ? 
Come  along,  madam  ;  come  ! ' 

'  She  is  so  weary ! '  said  Knight,  in  a  voice  of 
intensest  anguish.  '  Mr.  Swancourt,  don't  be  harsh 
with  her — let  me  beg  of  you  to  be  tender  with  her,  and 
love  her ! ' 

'  To  you,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Swancourt,  turning  to  him  as 
if  by  the  sheer  pressure  of  circumstances,  *  I  have  little 
to  say.  I  can  only  remark,  that  the  sooner  I  can  retire 
from  your  presence  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  Why 
you  could  not  conduct  your  courtship  of  my  daughter 
like  an  honest  man,  I  do  not  know.  Why  she — a 
foolish  inexperienced  girl — should  have  been  tempted 
to  this  piece  of  folly,  I  do  not  know.  Even  if  she  had 
not  known  better  than  to  leave  her  home,  you  might 
have,  I  should  think.' 

*  It  is  not  his  fault :  he  did  not  tempt  me,  papa !  I 
came.' 

'  If  you  wished  the  marriage  broken  off,  why  didn't 
you  say  so  plainly?  If  you  never  intended  to  marry, 
why  could  you  not  leave  her  alone?  Upon  my  soul, 
it  grates  me  to  the  heart  to  be  obliged  to  think  so  ill  of 
a  man  I  thought  my  friend ! ' 

Knight,  soul-sick  and  weary  of  his  life,  did  not 
arouse  himself  to  utter  a  word  in  reply.  How  should 
he  defend  himself  when  his  defence  was  the  accusation 
of  Elfride  ?  On  that  account  he  felt  a  miserable  satis- 
faction in  letting  her  father  go  on  thinking  and  speaking 
405 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

wrongfully.  It  was  a  faint  ray  of  pleasure  straying  into 
the  great  gloominess  of  his  brain  to  think  that  the  vicar 
might  never  know  but  that  he,  as  her  lover,  tempted  her 
away,  which  seemed  to  be  the  form  Mr.  Swancourt's 
misapprehension  had  taken. 

*  Now,  are  you  coming  ? '  said  Mr.  Swancourt  to  her 
again.  He  took  her  unresisting  hand,  drew  it  within 
his  arm,  and  led  her  down  the  stairs.  Knight's  eyes 
followed  her,  the  last  moment  begetting  in  him  a  frantic 
hope  that  she  would  turn  her  head.  She  passed  on, 
and  never  looked  back. 

He  heard  the  door  open — close  again.  The  wheels 
of  a  cab  grazed  the  kerbstone,  a  murmured  direction 
followed.  The  door  was  slammed  together,  the  wheels 
moved,  and  they  rolled  away. 

From  that  hour  of  her  reappearance  a  dreadful 
conflict  raged  within  the  breast  of  Henry  Knight.  His 
instinct,  emotion,  affectiveness — or  whatever  it  may  be 
called — urged  him  to  stand  forward,  seize  upon  Elfride, 
and  be  her  cherisher  and  protector  through  Hfe.  Then 
came  the  devastating  thought  that  Elfride's  childhke, 
unreasoning,  and  indiscreet  act  in  flying  to  him  only 
proved  that  the  proprieties  must  be  a  dead  letter  with 
her;  that  the  unreserve,  which  was  really  artlessness 
without  ballast,  meant  indifference  to  decorum ;  and 
what  so  likely  as  that  such  a  woman  had  been  deceived 
in  the  past?  He  said  to  himself,  in  a  mood  of  the 
bitterest  cynicism  :  '  The  suspicious  discreet  woman  who 
imagines  dark  and  evil  things  of  all  her  fellow-creatures 
is  far  too  shrewd  to  be  deluded  by  man  :  trusting  beings 
like  Elfride  are  the  women  who  fall.' 

Hours  and  days  went  by,  and  Knight  remained 
inactive.  Lengthening  time,  which  made  fainter  the 
heart-awakening  power  of  her  presence,  strengthened 
the  mental  ability  to  reason  her  down.  Elfride  loved 
him,  he  knew,  and  he  could  not  leave  off  loving  her ; 
406 


A  PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

but  marry  her  he  would  not.  If  she  could  but  be  again 
his  own  Elfride — the  woman  she  had  seemed  to  be — 
but  that  woman  was  dead  and  buried,  and  he  knew 
her  no  more !  And  how  could  he  marry  this  Elfride, 
one  who,  if  he  had  originally  seen  her  as  she  was,  would 
have  been  barely  an  interesting  pitiable  acquaintance  in 
his  eyes — no  more  ? 

It  cankered  his  heart  to  think  he  was  confronted  by 
the  closest  instance  of  a  worse  state  of  things  than  any 
he  had  assumed  in  the  pleasant  social  philosophy  and 
satire  of  his  essays. 

The  moral  rightness  of  this  man's  life  was  worthy 
of  all  praise ;  but  in  spite  of  some  intellectual  acumen. 
Knight  had  in  him  a  modicum  of  that  wrongheadedness 
which  is  mostly  found  in  scrupulously  honest  people. 
With  him,  truth  seemed  too  clean  and  pure  an  ab- 
straction to  be  so  hopelessly  churned  in  with  error  as 
practical  persons  find  it.  Having  now  seen  himself 
mistaken  m  supposing  Elfride  to  be  peerless,  nothing 
on  earth  could  make  him  believe  she  was  not  so  very 
bad  after  all. 

He  lingered  in  town  a  fortnight,  doing  Httle  else 
than  vibrate  between  passion  and  opinions.  One  idea 
remained  intact — that  it  was  better  Elfride  and  himself 
should  not  meet. 

When  he  surveyed  the  volumes  on  his  shelves — 
few  of  which  had  been  opened  since  Elfride  first  took 
possession  of  his  heart — their  untouched  and  orderly 
arrangement  reproached  him  as  an  apostate  from  the 
old  faith  of  his  youth  and  early  manhood.  He  had 
deserted  those  never-failing  friends,  so  they  seemed  to 
say,  for  an  unstable  delight  in  a  ductile  woman,  which 
had  ended  all  in  bitterness.  The  spirit  of  self-denial, 
verging  on  asceticism,  which  had  ever  animated  Knight 
in  old  times,  announced  itself  as  having  departed 
with  the  birth  of  love,  with  it  having  gone  the  self- 
respect  which  had  compensated  for  the  lack  of  self- 
407 


\\ 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

gratification.  Poor  little  Elfride,  instead  of  holding,  as 
formerly,  a  place  in  his  religion,  began  to  assume  the 
hue  of  a  temptation.  Perhaps  it  was  human  and  cor- 
rectly natural  that  Knight  never  once  thought  whether 
he  did  not  owe  her  a  little  sacrifice  for  her  unchary  devo- 
tion in  saving  his  life. 

With  a  consciousness  of  having  thus,  like  Antony, 
kissed  away  kingdoms  and  provinces,  he  next  considered 
how  he  had  revealed  his  higher  secrets  and  intentions 
to  her,  an  unreserve  he  would  never  have  allowed 
himself  with  any  man  living.  How  was  it  that  he  had 
not  been  able  to  refrain  from  telling  her  of  adumbra- 
tions heretofore  locked  in  the  closest  strongholds  of 
his  mind  ? 

Knight's  was  a  robust  intellect,  which  could  escape 
outside  the  atmosphere  of  heart,  and  perceive  that  his 
own  love,  as  well  as  other  people's,  could  be  reduced 
l)y  change  of  scene  and  circumstances.  At  the  same 
time  the  perception  was  a  superimposed  sorrow : 

*  O  last  regret,  regret  can  die  ! ' 

But  being  convinced  that  the  death  of  this  regret  was 
the  best  thing  for  him,  he  did  not  long  shrink  from 
attempting  it.  He  closed  his  chambers,  suspended  his 
connection  with  editors,  and  left  London  for  the  Conti- 
nent. Here  we  will  leave  him  to  wander  without  purpose, 
beyond  the  nominal  one  of  encouraging  obliviousness 
of  Elfride. 


XXXVI 

'  The  pennie's  the  jewel  that  beautifies  a'.' 

1   CAN'T  think  what's  coming  to  these  St.  Launce's 
people  at  all  at  all.' 

'  With  their  "  How-d'ye-do's,'  do  you  mean  ?  " 

*  Ay,  with  their  "  How-d'ye-do's,"  and  shaking  of 
hands,  asking  me  in,  and  tender  inquiries  for  you, 
John.' 

These  words  formed  part  of  a  conversation  between 
Joh^,  Smith  and  his  wife  on  a  Saturday  evening  in 
the  spring  which  followed  Knight's  departure  from 
England.  Stephen  had  long  since  returned  to  India; 
and  the  persevering  couple  themselves  had  migrated 
from  Lord  Luxellian's  park  at  Endelstow  to  a  comfort- 
able roadside  dwelling  about  a  mile  out  of  St.  Launce's, 
where  John  had  opened  a  small  stone  and  slate  yard 
in  his  own  name. 

'  When  we  came  here  six  months  ago,'  continued 
Mrs.  Smith,  '  though  I  had  paid  ready  money  so  many 
years  in  the  town,  my  friskier  shopkeepers  would  only 
speak  over  the  counter.  Meet  'em  in  the  street  half-an- 
hour  after,  and  they'd  treat  me  with  staring  ignorance 
of  my  face.' 

*  Look  through  ye  as  through  a  glass  winder  ? ' 
a  D  409 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

*Yes,  the  brazen  ones  would.  The  quiet  and  cool 
ones  would  glance  over  the  top  of  my  head,  past  my 
side,  over  my  shoulder,  but  never  meet  my  eye.  The 
gentle-modest  would  turn  their  faces  south  if  I  were 
coming  east,  flit  down  a  passage  if  I  were  about  to 
halve  the  pavement  with  them.  There  was  the  spruce 
young  bookseller  would  play  the  same  tricks ;  the 
butcher's  daughters ;  the  upholsterer's  young  men. 
Hand  in  glove  when  doing  business  out  of  sight  with 
you ;  but  caring  nothing  for  a'  old  woman  when  playing 
the  genteel  away  from  all  signs  of  their  trade.' 

'  True  enough,  Maria.' 

'  Well,  to-day  'tis  all  different.  I'd  no  sooner  got  to 
market  than  Mrs.  Joakes  rushed  up  to  me  in  the  eyes 
of  the  town  and  said,  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Smith,  now  you 
must  be  tired  with  your  walk !  Come  in  and  have 
some  lunch !  I  insist  upon  it ;  knowing  you  so  many 
years  as  I  have !  Don't  you  remember  when  we  used 
to  go  looking  for  owls'  feathers  together  in  the  Castle 
ruins  ?  "  There's  no  knowing  what  you  may  need,  so  I 
answered  the  woman  civilly.  I  hadn't  got  to  the  corner 
before  that  thriving  young  lawyer.  Sweet,  who's  quite 
the  dandy,  ran  after  me  out  of  breath.  "  Mrs.  Smith," 
he  says,  "  excuse  my  rudeness,  but  there's  a  bramble  on 
the  tail  of  your  dress,  which  you've  dragged  in  from  the 
country;  allow  me  to  pull  it  off  for  you."  If  you'll 
believe  me,  this  was  in  the  very  front  of  the  Town  Hall. 
What's  the  meaning  of  such  sudden  love  for  a'  old 
woman  ? ' 

*  Can't  say;  unless  'tis  repentance.' 

'  Repentance !  was  there  ever  such  a  fool  as  you, 
John  ?  Did  anybody  ever  repent  with  money  in's  pocket 
and  fifty  years  to  live  ? ' 

*  Now,  I've  been  thinking  too/  said  John,  passing 
over  the  query  as  hardly  pertinent,  '  that  I've  had  more 
loving-kindness  from  folks  to-day  than  I  ever  have 
before  since  we  moved  here.     Why,  old  Alderman  Tope 

410 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

walked  out  to  the  middle  of  the  street  where  I  was,  to 
shake  hands  with  me — so  'a  did.  Having  on  my 
working  clothes,  I  thought  'twas  odd.  Ay,  and  there 
was  young  Werrington.' 

*  Who's  he  ?  ' 

'  Why,  the  man  in  Hill  Street,  who  plays  and  sells 
flutes,  trumpets,  and  fiddles,  and  grand  pehanners. 
He  was  talking  to  Egloskerry,  that  very  small  bachelor- 
man  with  money  in  the  funds.  I  was  going  by,  I'm 
sure,  without  thinking  or  expecting  a  nod  from  men  of 
that  glib  kidney  when  in  my  working  clothes ' 

'  You  always  will  go  poking  into  town  in  your 
working  clothes.  Beg  you  to  change  how  I  will,  'tis 
no  use.' 

'  Well,  however,  I  was  in  my  working  clothes. 
Werrington  saw  me.  "  Ah,  Mr.  Smith  !  a  fine  morning ; 
excellent  weather  for  building,"  says  he,  out  as  loud  and 
friendly  as  if  I'd  met  him  in  some  deep  hollow,  where 
he  could  get  nobody  else  to  speak  to  at  all.  'Twas 
odd :  for  Werrington  is  one  of  the  very  ringleaders  of 
the  fast  class.' 

At  that  moment  a  tap  came  to  the  door.  The  door 
was  immediately  opened  by  Mrs.  Smith  in  person. 

'You'll  excuse  us,  I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Smith,  but  this 
beautiful  spring  weather  was  too  much  for  us.  Yes, 
and  we  could  stay  in  no  longer;  and  I  took  Mrs. 
Trewen  upon  my  arm  directly  we'd  had  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  out  we  came.  And  seeing  your  beautiful  crocuses 
in  such  a  bloom,  we've  taken  the  liberty  to  enter.  We'll 
step  round  the  garden,  if  you  don't  mind.' 

*  Not  at  all,'  said  Mrs.  Smith ;  and  they  walked 
round  the  garden.  She  lifted  her  hands  in  amazement 
directly  their  backs  were  turned.  'Goodness  send  us 
grace ! ' 

'  Who  be  they  ?  '  said  her  husband. 
'Actually  Mr.  Trewen,  the  bank-manager,  and  his 
wife.' 

411 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

John  Smith,  staggered  in  mind,  went  out  of  doors 
and  looked  over  the  garden  gate,  to  collect  his  ideas. 
He  had  not  been  there  two  minutes  when  wheels  were 
heard,  and  a  carriage  and  pair  rolled  along  the  road. 
A  distinguished-looking  lady,  with  the  demeanour  of  a 
duchess,  reclined  within.  When  opposite  Smith's  gate 
she  turned  her  head,  and  instantly  commanded  the 
coachman  to  stop. 

'  Ah,  Mr.  Smith,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so 
well.  I  could  not  help  stopping  a  moment  to  congratu- 
late you  and  Mrs.  Smith  upon  the  happiness  you  must 
enjoy.     Joseph,  you  may  drive  on.' 

And  the  carriage  rolled  away  towards  St.  Launce's. 

Out  rushed  Mrs.  Smith  from  behind  a  laurel-bush, 
where  she  had  stood  pondering. 

'  Just  going  to  touch  my  hat  to  her,'  said  John ; 
'  just  for  all  the  world  as  I  would  have  to  poor  Lady 
Luxellian  years  ago.' 

'  Lord  !  who  is  she  ?  ' 

'  The  public-house  woman — what's  her  name  ?  Mrs. 
— Mrs. — at  the  Falcon.' 

'  Public-house  woman.  The  clumsiness  of  the  Smith 
family!  You  might  say  the  landlady  of  the  Falcon 
Hotel,  since  we  are  in  for  politeness.  The  people  are 
ridiculous  enough,  but  give  them  their  due.' 

The  possibility  is  that  Mrs.  Smith  was  getting  molli- 
fied, in  spite  of  herself,  by  these  remarkably  friendly 
phenomena  among  the  people  of  St.  Launce's.  And 
in  justice  to  them  it  was  quite  desirable  that  she  should 
do  so.  The  interest  which  the  unpractised  ones  of 
this  town  expressed  so  grotesquely  was  genuine  of 
its  kind,  and  equal  in  intrinsic  worth  to  the  more 
polished  smiles  of  larger  communities. 

By  this  time  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trewen  were  returning 
from  the  garden. 

'  I'll  ask  'em  flat,'  whispered  John  to  his  wife. 
*  I'll  say,  "  We  be  in  a  fog — you'll  excuse  my  asking  a 
412 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

question,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trewen.  How  is  it  you  all  be 
so  friendly  to-day  ?  "  Hey  ?  'Twould  sound  right  and 
sensible,  wouldn't  it  ?  ' 

*  Not  a  word  !  Good  mercy,  when  will  the  man 
have  manners  ! ' 

'  It  must  be  a  proud  mom.ent  for  you,  I  am  sure, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith,  to  have  a  son  so  celebrated,'  said 
the  bank-manager  advancing. 

*  Ah,  'tis  Stephen — I  knew  it  ! '  said  Mrs.  Smith 
triumphantly  to  herself. 

*  We  don't  know  particulars,'  said  John. 

*  Not  know  !  ' 
*No.' 

'  Why,  'tis  all  over  town.  Our  worthy  Mayor 
alluded  to  it  in  a  speech  at  the  dinner  last  night  of 
the  Every-Man-his-own-Maker  Club.' 

'  And  what  about  Stephen  ? '  urged  Mrs.  Smith. 

'  Why,  your  son  has  been  feted  by  deputy-governors 
and  Parsee  princes  and  nobody-knows-who  in  India; 
is  hand  in  glove  with  nabobs,  and  is  to  design  a  large 
palace,  and  cathedral,  and  hospitals,  colleges,  halls,  and 
fortifications,  by  the  general  consent  of  the  ruHng 
powers.  Christian  and  Pagan  alike.' 

'  'Twas  sure  to  come  to  the  boy,'  said  Mr.  Smith 
unassumingly. 

'  'Tis  in  yesterday's  SA  Launch s  Chronicle  ;  and  our 
worthy  Mayor  in  the  chair  introduced  the  subject  into 
his  speech  last  night  in  a  masterly  manner.' 

'  'Twas  very  good  of  the  worthy  Mayor  in  the  chair, 
I'm  sure,'  said  Stephen's  mother.  » I  hope  the  boy  will 
have  the  sense  to  keep  what  he's  got ;  but  as  for  men, 
they  are  a  simple  sex.     Some  woman  will  hook  him.' 

'  Well,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith,  the  evening  closes  in, 
and  we  must  be  going ;  and  remember  this,  that  every 
Saturday  when  you  come  in  to  market,  you  are  to  make 
our  house  as  your  own.  There  will  be  always  a  tea-cup 
and  saucer  for  you,  as  you  know  there  has  been  for 
413 


; 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

months,  though  you  may  have  forgotten  it.  I'm  a 
plain-speaking  woman,  and  what  I  say  I  mean.' 

When  the  visitors  were  gone,  and  the  sun  had  set, 
and  the  moon's  rays  were  just  beginning  to  assert 
themselves  upon  the  walls  of  the  dwelling,  John  Smith 
and  his  wife  sat  down  to  the  newspaper  they  had  hastily 
procured  from  the  town.  And  when  the  reading  was 
done,  they  considered  howl!  belt  to  meet  the  new  social 
requirements  settling  upon  them,  which  Mrs.  Smith 
considered  could  be  done  by  new  furniture  and  house 
enlargement  alone. 

'  And,  John,  mind  one  thing,'  she  said  in  conclusion. 
*  In  writing  to  Stephen,  never  by  any  means  mention 
the  name  of  Elfride  Swancourt  again.  We've  left  the 
place,  and  know  no  more  about  her  except  by  hearsay. 
He  seems  to  be  getting  free  of  her,  and  glad  am  I 
for  it.  It  was  a  cloudy  hour  for  him  when  he  first 
set  eyes  upon  the  girl.  That  family's  been  no  good 
to  him,  first  or  last ;  so  let  them  keep  their  blood  to 
themselves  if  they  want  to.  He  thinks  of  her,  I  know, 
but  not  so  hopelessly.  So  ^-  't  try  to  know  anything 
about  her,  and  we^^n't  answer  his  questions.  She 
may  die  out  of  his  ^Jd  then.' 

'  That  shall  be  it,'*  said  John. 


XXXVII 

'  After  many  days.' 

IC  NIGHT  roamed  south,  under  colour  of  studying 
Continental  antiquities. 

He  paced  the  lofty  aisles  of  Amiens,  loitered  by 
Ardennes  Abbey,  climbed  into  the  strange  towers  of 
Laon,  analyzed  NoyC'  '    "^heims.     Then  he  went  to 

Chartres,  and  examine  .ts  scaly  SBires  and  quaint  carv- 
ing :  then  he  idled  <i  out  Coutajfces.  He  rowed  be- 
neath the  base  of  j'  ;nt  St.  Michel,  and  caught  the 
varied  skyline  of  the  crumbling  edifices  encrusting  it. 
St.  Ouen's,  Rouen,  knew  him  for  days ;  so  did  Vezelay, 
Sens,  and  many  a  hallowed  monument  besides.  Aban- 
doning the  inspection  of  early  French  art  with  the  same 
purposeless  haste  as  he  had  shown  in  undertaking  it,  he 
went  further,  and  lingered  about  Ferrara,  Padua,  and 
Pisa.  Satiated  with  medisevalism,  he  tried  the  Roman 
Forum.  Next  he  observed  moonlight  and  starlight 
effects  by  the  bay  of  Naples.  He  turned  to  Austria, 
became  enervated  and  depressed  on  Hungarian  and 
Bohemian  plains,  and  was  refreshed  again  by  breezes  on 
the  declivities  of  the  Carpathians. 

Then  he  found  himself  in  Greece.  He  visited  the 
plain  of  Marathon,  and  strove  to  imagine  the  Persian 
415 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

defeat ;  to  Mars  Hill,  to  picture  St.  Paul  addressing  the 
ancient  Athenians ;  to  Thermopylae  and  Salamis,  to  run 
through  the  facts  and  traditions  of  the  Second  Invasion 
— the  result  of  his  endeavours  being  more  or  less 
chaotic.  Knight  grew  as  weary  of  these  places  as  of  all 
others.  Then  he  felt  the  shock  of  an  earthquake  in  the 
Ionian  Islands,  and  went  to  Venice.  Here  he  shot  in 
gondolas  up  and  down  the  winding  thoroughfare  of  the 
Grand  Canal,  and  loitered  on  calle  and  piazza  at  night, 
when  the  lagunes  were  undisturbed  by  a  ripple,  and  no 
sound  was  to  be  heard  but  the  stroke  of  the  midnight 
clock.  Afterwards  he  remained  for  weeks  in  the 
museums,  galleries,  and  libraries  of  Vienna,  Berlin,  and 
Paris  ;  and  thence  came  home. 

Time  thus  rolls  us  on  to  a  February  afternoon,  divided 
by  fifteen  months  from  the  parting  of  Elfride  and  her 
lover  in  the  brown  stubble  field  towards  the  sea. 

Two  men  obviously  not  Londoners,  and  with  a  touch 
of  foreignness  in  their  look,  met  by  accident  on  one 
of  the  gravel  walks  leading  across  Hyde  Park.  The 
younger,  more  given  to  looking  about  him  than  his 
fellow,  saw  and  noticed  the  approach  of  his  senior  some 
time  before  the  latter  had  raised  his  eyes  from  the 
ground,  upon  which  they  were  bent  in  an  abstracted 
gaze  that  seemed  habitual  with  him. 

*  Mr.  Knight — indeed  it  is  ! '  exclaimed  the  younger 
man. 

'  Ah,  Stephen  Smith  ! '  said  Knight. 

Simultaneous  operations  might  now  have  been  ob- 
served progressing  in  both,  the  result  being  that  an 
expression  less  frank  and  impulsive  than  the  first  took 
possession  of  their  features.  It  was  manifest  that  the 
next  words  uttered  were  a  superficial  covering  to  con- 
straint on  both  sides. 

'  Have  you  been  in  England  long  ? '  said  Knight. 

*  Only  two  days,'  said  Smith. 

*  India  ever  since  ?  ' 

416 


A  PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Nearly  ever  since.' 

*  They  were  making  a  fuss  about  you  at  St.  Launce's  last 
year.      I  fancy  I  saw  something  of  the  sort  in  the  papers.' 

'  Yes ;  I  believe  something  was  said  about  me.' 

*  I  must  congratulate  you  on  your  achievements.' 

'  Thanks,  but  they  are  nothing  very  extraordinary. 
A  natural  professional  progress  where  there  was  no 
opposition.' 

There  followed  that  want  of  words  which  will  always 
assert  itself  between  nominal  friends  who  find  they 
have  ceased  to  be  real  ones,  and  have  not  yet  sunk  to 
the  level  of  mere  acquaintance.  Each  looked  up  and 
down  the  Park.  Knight  may  possibly  have  borne  in 
mind  during  the  intervening  months  Stephen's  manner 
towards  him  the  last  tim.e  they  had  met,  and  may  have 
encouraged  his  former  interest  in  Stephen's  welfare  to 
die  out  of  him  as  misplaced.  Stephen  certainly  was 
full  of  the  feelings  begotten  by  the  belief  that  Knight 
had  taken  away  the  woman  he  loved  so  well. 

Stephen  Smith  then  asked  a  question,  adopting  a 
certain  recklessness  of  manner  and  tone  to  hide,  if 
possible,  the  fact  that  the  subject  was  a  much  greater 
one  to  him  than  his  friend  had  ever  supposed. 

*  Are  you  married  ? ' 
*I  am  not.' 

Knight  spoke  in  an  indescribable  tone  of  bitterness 
that  was  almost  moroseness. 

*  And  I  never  shall  be,'  he  added  decisively.  •  Are 
you  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  Stephen,  sadly  and  quietly,  like  a  man  in 
a  sick-room.  Totally  ignorant  whether  or  not  Knight 
knew  of  his  own  previous  claims  upon  Elfride,  he  yet 
resolved  to  hazard  a  few  more  words  upon  the  topic 
which  had  an  aching  fascination  for  him  even  now. 

'  Then  your  engagement  to  Miss  Swancourt  came  to 
nothing,'  he  said.  *  You  remember  I  met  you  with  her 
once  ? ' 

417  2D 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

Stephen's  voice  gave  way  a  little  here,  in  defiance  of 
his  firmest  will  to  the  contrary.  Indian  affairs  had  not  yet 
lowered  those  emotions  down  to  the  point  of  control. 

'  It  was  broken  off,'  came  quickly  from  Knight. 
'  Engagements  to  marry  often  end  like  that — for  better 
or  for  worse.' 

'  Yes ;  so  they  do.  And  what  have  you  been  doing 
lately  ? ' 

'  Doing  ?     Nothing.' 

*  Where  have  you  been  ?  ' 

*  I  can  hardly  tell  you.  In  the  main,  going  about 
Europe ;  and  it  may  perhaps  interest  you  to  know  that 
I  have  been  attempting  the  serious  study  of  Continental 
art  of  the  Middle  Ages.  My  notes  on  each  example  I 
visited  are  at  your  service.     They  are  of  no  use  to  me.' 

'  I  shall  be  glad  with  them.  .  .  .  Oh,  travelling  far 
and  near ! ' 

'  Not  far,'  said  Knight,  with  moody  carelessness. 
'  You  know,  I  daresay,  that  sheep  occasionally  become 
giddy — hydatids  in  the  head,  'tis  called,  in  which  their 
brains  become  eaten  up,  and  the  animal  exhibits  the 
strange  peculiarity  of  walking  round  and  round  in  a 
circle  continually.  I  have  travelled  just  in  the  same 
way  — round  and  round  like  a  giddy  ram.' 

The  reckless,  bitter,  and  rambling  style  in  which 
Knight  talked,  as  if  rather  to  vent  his  images  than  to 
convey  any  ideas  to  Stephen,  struck  the  young  man 
painfully.  His  former  friend's  days  had  become  cankered 
in  some  way  :  Knight  was  a  changed  man.  He  himseif 
had  changed  much,  but  not  as  Knight  had  changed. 

*  Yesterday  I  came  home,'  continued  Knight,  '  with- 
out having,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  imbibed  half-a-dozen 
ideas  worth  retaining.' 

'  You  out-Hamlet  Hamlet  in  morbidness  of  mood,' 
said  Stephen,  with  regretful  frankness. 
Knight  made  no  reply. 

'  Do  you  know,'  Stephen  continued,  *  I  could  almost 
418 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

have  sworn  that  you  would  be  married  before  this  time, 
from  what  I  saw  ?  ' 

Knight's  face  grew  harder.     '  Could  you  ? '  he  said. 

Stephen  was  powerless  to  forsake  the  depressing, 
luring  subject. 

*  Yes ;  and  I  simply  wonder  at  it.' 

<  Whom  did  you  expect  me  to  marry  ? ' 

'  Her  I  saw  you  with.' 

'  Thank  you  for  that  wonder.' 

*  Did  she  jilt  you  ?  ' 

'  Smith,  now  one  word  to  you,'  Knight  returned 
steadily.  '  Don't  you  ever  question  me  on  that  subject. 
I  have  a  reason  for  making  this  request,  mind.  And  if 
you  do  question  me,  you  will  not  get  an  answer.' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  for  a  moment  wish  to  ask  what  is 
unpleasant  to  you — not  I.  I  had  a  momentary  feeling 
that  I  should  like  to  explain  something  on  my  side,  and 
hear  a  similar  explanation  on  yours.  But  let  it  go,  let 
it  go,  by  all  means.' 

*  What  would  you  explain  ?  ' 

'  I  lost  the  woman  I  was  going  to  marry :  you  have 
not  married  as  you  intended.  We  might  have  compared 
notes.' 

'  I  have  never  asked  you  a  word  about  your  case.' 

'  I  know  that.' 

*  And  the  inference  is  obvious.' 

*  Quite  so.' 

'  The  truth  is,  Stephen,  I  have  doggedly  resolved 
never  to  allude  to  the  matter — for  which  I  have  a  very 
good  reason.' 

'  Doubtless.  As  good  a  reason  as  you  had  for  not 
marrying  her.' 

'  You  talk  insidiously.  I  had  a  good  one — a  miser- 
ably good  one ! ' 

Smith's  anxiety  urged  him  to  venture  one  more 
question. 

*  Did   she  not  love  you   enough  ? '      He  drew  his 

419 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

breath  in  a  slow  and  attenuated  stream,  as  he  waited 
in  timorous  hope  for  the  answer. 

'  Stephen,  you  rather  strain  ordinary  courtesy  in 
pressing  questions  of  that  kind  after  what  I  have  said. 
I  cannot  understand  you  at  all.     I  must  go  on  now.' 

'  Why,  good  God  ! '  exclaimed  Stephen  passionately, 
'  you  talk  as  if  you  hadn't  at  all  taken  her  away  from 
anybody  who  had  better  claims  to  her  than  you  ! ' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? '  said  Knight,  with  a 
puzzled  air.     '  What  have  you  heard  ?  ' 

'  Nothing.     I  too  must  go  on.     Good-day.' 

'  If  you  will  go,'  said  Knight,  reluctantly  now,  '  you 
must,  I  suppose.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  understand  why 
you  behave  so.' 

'  Nor  I  why  you  do.  I  have  always  been  grateful 
to  you,  and  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  we  need  never 
have  become  so  estranged  as  we  have.' 

'  And  have  I  ever  been  anything  but  well-disposed 
towards  you,  Stephen  ?  Surely  you  know  that  I  have  not ! 
The  system  of  reserve  began  with  you  :  you  know  that.' 

'  No,  no !  You  altogether  mistake  our  position. 
You  were  always  from  the  first  reserved  to  me,  though 
I  was  confidential  to  you.  That  was,  I  suppose,  the 
natural  issue  of  our  differing  positions  in  fife.  And 
when  I,  the  pupil,  became  reserved  like  you,  the  master, 
you  did  not  like  it.  However,  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
to  come  round  and  see  me.' 

*  Where  are  you  staying  ?  ' 

'  At  the  Grosvenor  Hotel,  Pimlico.* 

'  So  am  I.' 

'  That's  convenient,  not  to  say  odd.  Well,  I  am 
detained  in  London  for  a  day  or  two ;  then  I  am  going 
down  to  see  my  father  and  mother,  who  live  at  St. 
Launce's  now.     Will  you  see  me  this  evening  ?  ' 

*I  may;  but  I  will  not  promise.     I  was  wishing  to 
be  alone  for  an  hour  or  two ;  but  I  shall  know  where 
to  find  you,  at  any  rate.     Good-bye.' 
420 


XXXVIII 

'Jealousy  is  cruel  as  the  grave.' 

oTEPHEN  pondered  not  a  little  on  this  meeting  with 
his  old  friend  and  once-beloved  exemplar.  He  was 
grieved,  for  amid  all  the  distractions  of  his  latter  years 
a  still  small  voice  of  fidelity  to  Knight  had  Hngered  on 
in  him.  Perhaps  this  staunchness  was  because  Knight 
ever  treated  him  as  a  mere  disciple  -even  to  snubbing 
him  sometimes ;  and  had  at  last,  though  unwittingly, 
inflicted  upon  him  the  greatest  snub  of  all,  that  of  taking 
away  his  sweetheart.  The  emotional  side  of  his  constitu- 
tion was  built  rather  after  a  feminine  than  a  male  model ; 
and  that  tremendous  wound  from  Knight's  hand  may 
have  tended  to  keep  alive  a  warmth  which  soHcitousness 
would  have  extinguished  altogether. 

Knight,  on  his  part,  was  vexed,  after  they  had  parted, 
that  he  had  not  taken  Stephen  in  hand  a  little  after  the 
old  manner.  Those  words  which  Smith  had  let  fall 
concerning  somebody  having  a  prior  claim  to  Elfride, 
would,  if  uttered  when  the  man  was  younger,  have  pro- 
voked such  a  query  as,  '  Come,  tell  me  all  about  it,  my 
lad,'  from  Knight,  and  Stephen  would  straightway  have 
delivered  himself  of  all  he  knew  on  the  subject. 

Stephen  the  ingenuous  boy,  though  now  obliterated 
421 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

externally  by  Stephen  the  contriving  man,  returned  to 
Knight's  memory  vividly  that  afternoon.  He  was  at 
present  but  a  sojourner  in  London  ;  and  after  attending 
to  the  two  or  three  matters  of  business  which  remained 
to  be  done  that  day,  he  walked  abstractedly  into  the 
gloomy  corridors  of  the  British  Museum  for  the  half- 
hour  previous  to  their  closing.  That  meeting  with 
Smith  had  reunited  the  present  with  the  past,  closing 
up  the  chasm  of  his  absence  from  England  as  if  it 
had  never  existed,  until  the  final  circumstances  of  his 
previous  time  of  residence  in  London  formed  but  a 
yesterday  to  the  circumstances  now.  The  conflict  that 
then  had  raged  in  him  concerning  Elfride  Swancourt 
revived,  strengthened  by  its  sleep.  Indeed,  in  those 
many  months  of  absence,  though  quelling  the  intention 
to  make  her  his  wife,  he  had  never  forgotten  that  she 
was  the  type  of  woman  adapted  to  his  nature;  and 
instead  of  trying  to  obliterate  thoughts  of  her  alto- 
gether, he  had  grown  to  regard  them  as  an  infirmity  it 
was  necessary  to  tolerate. 

Knight  returned  to  his  hotel  much  earlier  in  the 
evening  than  he  would  have  done  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  things.  He  did  not  care  to  think  whether  this  arose 
from  a  friendly  wish  to  close  the  gap  that  had  slowly 
been  widening  between  himself  and  his  earliest  acquaint- 
ance, or  from  a  hankering  desire  to  hear  the  meaning 
of  the  dark  oracles  Stephen  had  hastily  pronounced, 
betokening  that  he  knew  something  more  of  Elfride 
than  Knight  had  supposed. 

He  made  a  hasty  dinner,  inquired  for  Smith,  and 
soon  was  ushered  into  the  young  man's  presence, 
whom  he  found  sitting  in  front  of  a  comfortable  fire, 
beside  a  table  spread  with  a  few  scientific  periodicals 
and  art  reviews. 

'  I  have  come  to  you,  after  all,'  said  Knight.  '  My 
manner  was  odd  this  morning,  and  it  seemed  desirable 
to  call;  but  that  you  had  too  much  sense  to  notice, 
422 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

Stephen,  I  know.  Put  it  down  to  my  wanderings  in 
France  and  Italy.' 

*  Don't  say  another  word,  but  sit  down.  I  am  only 
too  glad  to  see  you  again.' 

Stephen  would  hardly  have  cared  to  tell  Knight  just 
then  that  the  minute  before  Knight  was  announced  he 
had  been  reading  over  some  old  letters  of  Elfride's. 
They  were  not  many;  and  until  to-night  had  been 
sealed  up,  and  stowed  away  in  a  corner  of  his  leather 
trunk,  with  a  few  other  mementoes  and  relics  which  had 
accompanied  him  in  his  travels.  The  familiar  sights 
and  sounds  of  London,  the  meeting  with  his  friend,  had 
with  him  also  revived  that  sense  of  abiding  continuity 
with  regard  to  Elfride  and  love  which  his  absence  at  the 
other  side  of  the  world  had  to  some  extent  suspended, 
though  never  ruptured.  He  at  first  intended  only  to 
look  over  these  letters  on  the  outside ;  then  he  read  one ; 
then  another;  until  the  whole  was  thus  re-used  as  a 
stimulus  to  sad  memories.  He  folded  them  away  again, 
placed  them  in  his  pocket,  and  instead  of  going  on  with 
an  examination  into  the  state  of  the  artistic  world,  had 
remained  musing  on  the  strange  circumstance  that  he 
had  returned  to  find  Knight  not  the  husband  of  Elfride 
after  all. 

The  possibiHty  of  any  given  gratification  begets  a 
cumulative  sense  of  its  necessity.  Stephen  gave  the  rein 
to  his  imagination,  and  felt  more  intensely  than  he  had 
felt  for  many  months  that,  without  Elfride,  his  life  would 
never  be  any  great  pleasure  to  himself,  or  honour  to  his 
Maker. 

They  sat  by  the  fire,  chatting  on  external  and 
random  subjects,  neither  caring  to  be  the  first  to 
approach  the  matter  each  most  longed  to  discuss.  On 
the  table  with  the  periodicals  lay  two  or  three  pocket- 
books,  one  of  them  being  open.  Knight  seeing  from 
the  exposed  page  that  the  contents  were  sketches  only, 
began  turning  the  leaves  over  carelessly  with  his  finger. 
423 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE   EYES 

When,  some  time  later,  Stephen  was  out  of  the  room, 
Knight  proceeded  to  pass  the  interval  by  looking  at  the 
sketches  more  carefully. 

The  first  crude  ideas,  pertaining  to  dwellings  of  all 
kinds,  were  roughly  outUned  on  the  different  pages. 
Antiquities  had  been  copied;  fragments  of  Indian 
columns,  colossal  statues,  and  outlandish  ornament 
from  the  temples  of  Elephanta  and  Kenneri,  were  care- 
lessly intruded  upon  by  outlines  of  modern  doors,  win- 
dows, roofs,  cooking-stoves,  and  household  furniture; 
everything,  in  short,  which  comes  within  the  range  of  a 
practising  architect's  experience,  who  travels  with  his 
eyes  open.  Among  these  occasionally  appeared  rough 
delineations  of  mediaeval  subjects  for  carving  or  illumi- 
nation— heads  of  Virgins,  Saints,  and  Prophets. 

Stephen  was  not  professedly  a  free-hand  draughts- 
man, but  he  drew  the  human  figure  with  correctness 
and  skill.  In  its  numerous  repetitions  on  the  sides  and 
edges  of  the  leaves.  Knight  began  to  notice  a  peculiarity. 
All  the  feminine  saints  had  one  type  of  feature.  There 
were  large  nimbi  and  small  nimbi  about  their  drooping 
heads,  but  the  face  was  always  the  same.  That  profile 
— how  well  Knight  knew  that  profile  ! 

Had  there  been  but  one  specimen  of  the  familiar 
countenance,  he  might  have  passed  over  the  resemblance 
as  accidental;  but  a  repetition  meant  more.  Knight 
thought  anew  of  Smith's  hasty  words  earlier  in  the  day, 
and  looked  at  the  sketches  again  and  again. 

On  the  young  man's  entry.  Knight  said  with  palpable 
agitation — 

*  Stephen,  who  are  those  intended  for?' 

Stephen  looked  over  the  book  with  utter  unconcern  : 
'  Saints  and  angels,  done  in  my  leisure  moments.  They 
were  intended  as  designs  for  the  stained  glass  of  an 
English  church.' 

'  But  whom  do  you  idealize  by  that  type  of  woman 
you  always  adopt  for  the  Virgin  ?  ' 
424 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Nobody.' 

And  then  a  thought  raced  along  Stephen's  mind, 
and  he  looked  up  at  his  friend. 

The  truth  is,  Stephen's  introduction  of  Elfride's 
lineaments  had  been  so  unconscious  that  he  had  not 
at  first  understood  his  companion's  drift.  The  hand, 
hke  the  tongue,  easily  acquires  the  trick  of  repetition 
by  rote,  without  calling  in  the  mind  to  assist  at  all; 
and  this  had  been  the  case  here.  Young  men  who 
cannot  write  verses  about  their  Loves  generally  take  to 
portraying  them,  and  in  the  early  days  of  his  attachment 
Smith  had  never  been  weary  of  outlining  Elfride.  The 
lay-figure  of  Stephen's  sketches  now  initiated  an  adjust- 
ment of  many  things.  Knight  had  recognized  her.  The 
opportunity  of  comparing  notes  had  come  unsought. 

*  Elfride  Swancourt,  to  whom  I  was  engaged,'  he 
said  quietly. 

'  Stephen  ! ' 

'  I  know  what  you  mean  by  speaking  like  that.' 
^    *  Was  it  Elfride  ?      You  the  man,  Stephen  ?  ' 

'  Yes ;  and  you  are  thinking  why  did  I  conceal  the 
fact  from  you  that  time  at  Endelstow,  are  you  not  ? ' 

*  Yes,  and  more — more.' 

*  I  did  it  for  the  best ;  blame  me  if  you  will ;  I  did 
it  for  the  best.  And  now  say  how  could  I  be  with  you 
afterwards  as  I  had  been  before  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know  at  all ;   I  can't  say.' 

Knight  remained  fixed  in  thought,  and  once  he 
murmured — 

'  I  had  a  suspicion  this  afternoon  that  there  might 
be  some  such  meaning  in  your  words  about  my  taking 
her  away.  But  I  dismissed  it.  How  came  you  to  know 
her  ? '  he  presently  asked,  in  almost  a  peremptory 
tone. 

'  I  went  down  about  the  church ;  years  ago  now.' 

'  When  you  were  with  Hewby,  of  course,  of  course. 
Well,  I  can't  understand  it.'  His  tones  rose.  '  I  don't 
2E  425 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

know  what  to  say,  your  hoodwinking  me  like  this  for 
so  long  ! ' 

'  I  don't  see  that  I  have  hoodwinked  you  at  all.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  but ' 

Knight  arose  from  his  seat,  and  began  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room.  His  face  was  markedly  pale,  and^ 
his  voice  perturbed,  as  he  said — 

'  You  did  not  act  as  I  should  have  acted  towards  you 
under  those  circumstances.  I  feel  it  deeply ;  and  I  tell 
you  plainly,  I  shall  never  forget  it ! ' 

'  What  ? ' 

'  Your  behaviour  at  that  meeting  in  the  family  vault, 
when  I  told  you  we  were  going  to  be  married.  Decep- 
tion, dishonesty,  everywhere ;  all  the  world's  of  a  piece  ! ' 

Stephen  did  not  much  like  this  misconstruction  of 
his  motives,  even  though  it  was  but  the  hasty  conclusion 
of  a  friend  disturbed  by  emotion. 

'  I  could  do  no  otherwise  than  I  did,  with  due  regard 
to  her,'  he  said  stiffly. 

'  Indeed ! '  said  Knight,  in  the  bitterest  tone  of 
reproach.  '  Nor  could  you  with  due  regard  to  her  have 
married  her,  I  suppose  !  I  have  hoped — longed — that 
he,  who  turns  out  to  be  you,  would  ultimately  have 
done  that.' 

'  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  that  hope.  But  you 
talk  very  mysteriously.  I  think  I  had  about  the  best 
reason  anybody  could  have  had  for  not  doing  that.' 

^  Oh,  what  reason  was  it  ?  ' 

'  That  I  could  not.' 
V  'You    ought    to    have    made  an  opportunity;    you 

ought  to  do  so  now,  in  bare  justice  to  her,  Stephen  ! ' 
cried  Knight,  carried  beyond  himself.  '  That  you  know 
very  well,  and  it  hurts  and  wounds  me  more  than  you 
dream  to  find  you  never  have  tried  to  make  any  repara- 
tion to  a  woman  of  that  kind — so  trusting,  so  apt  to  be 
run  away  with  by  her  feelings — poor  little  fool,  so  much 
the  worse  for  her  ! ' 

426 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Why,  you  talk  like  a  madman  !  You  took  her  away 
from  me,  did  you  not  ?  ' 

'  Picking  up  what  another  throws  down  can  scarcely 
be  called  "  taking  away."  However,  we  shall  not  agree 
too  well  upon  that  subject,  so  we  had  better  part.' 

'  But  I  am  quite  certain  you  misapprehend  some- 
thing most  grievously,'  said  Stephen,  shaken  to  the 
bottom  of  his  heart.  '  What  have  I  done ;  tell  me  ?  I 
have  lost  Elfride,  but  is  that  such  a  sin  ? ' 

*  Was  it  her  doing,  or  yours  ?  ' 
'  Was  what  ?  ' 

*  That  you  parted/ 

'  I  will  tell  you  honestly.  It  was  hers  entirely,  en- 
tirely.' 

*  What  was  her  reason  ?  ' 

'  I  can  hardly  say.  But  I'll  tell  the  story  without 
reserve.' 

Stephen  until  to-day  had  unhesitatingly  held  that  she 
grew  tired  of  him  and  turned  to  Knight ;  but  he  did 
not  like  to  advance  the  statement  now,  or  even  to  think 
the  thought.  To  fancy  otherwise  accorded  better  with 
the  hope  to  which  Knight's  estrangement  had  given 
birth :  that  love  for  his  friend  was  not  the  direct  cause, 
but  a  result  of  her  suspension  of  love  for  himself. 

'  Such  a  matter  must  not  be  allowed  to  breed  dis- 
cord between  us,'  Knight  returned,  relapsing  into  a 
manner  which  concealed  all  his  true  feeling,  as  if  con- 
fidence now  was  intolerable.  *  I  do  see  that  your  reti- 
cence towards  me  in  the  vault  may  have  been  dictated 
by  prudential  considerations.'  He  concluded  artifi- 
cially, '  It  was  a  strange  thing  altogether ;  but  not  of 
much  importance,  I  suppose,  at  this  distance  of  time ; 
and  it  does  not  concern  me  now,  though  I  don't  mind 
hearing  your  story.' 

These  words  from  Knight,  utttered  with  such  an  air 
of  renunciation  and  apparent  indifference,  prompted 
Smith  to  speak  on — perhaps  with  a  little  complacency 
427 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

— of  his  old  secret  engagement  to  Elfride.  He  told 
the  details  of  its  origin,  and  the  peremptory  words  and 
actions  of  her  father  to  extinguish  their  love. 

Knight  persevered  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  a  dis- 
interested outsider.  It  had  become  more  than  ever 
imperative  to  screen  his  emotions  from  Stephen's  eye ; 
the  young  man  would  otherwise  be  less  frank,  and 
their  meeting  would  be  again  embittered.  What  was 
the  use  of  untoward  candour  ? 

Stephen  had  now  arrived  at  the  point  in  his  ingenu- 
ous narrative  where  he  left  the  vicarage  because  of  her 
father's  manner.  Knight's  interest  increased.  Their 
love  seemed  so  innocent  and  childlike  thus  far. 

'It  is  a  nice  point  in  casuistry,'  he  observed,  '  to 
decide  whether  you  were  culpable  or  not  in  not  telling 
Swancourt  that  your  friends  were  parishioners  of  his. 
It  was  only  human  nature  to  hold  your  tongue  under 
the  circumstances.  Well,  what  was  the  result  of  your 
dismissal  by  him  ?  ' 

'That  we  agreed  to  be  secretly  faithful.  And  to 
insure  this  we  thought  we  would  marry.' 

Knight's  suspense  and  agitation  rose  higher  when 
Stephen  entered  upon  this  phase  of  the  subject. 

'  Do  you  mind  telling  on  ? '  he  said,  steadying  his 
manner  of  speech. 

'  Oh,  not  at  all.' 

Then  Stephen  gave  in  full  the  particulars  of  the 
meeting  with  Elfride  at  the  railway  station ;  the  neces- 
sity they  were  under  of  going  to  London,  unless  the 
ceremony  were  to  be  postponed.  The  long  journey  of 
the  afternoon  and  evening ;  her  timidity  and  revulsion 
of  feeling ;  its  culmination  on  reaching  London ;  the 
crossing  over  to  the  down-platform  and  their  immediate 
departure  again,  solely  in  obedience  to  her  wish ;  the 
journey  all  night ;  their  anxious  watching  for  the  dawn ; 
their  arrival  at  St.  Launce's  at  last — were  detailed. 
And  he  told  how  a  village  woman  named  Jethway  was 
428 


A   PAIR    OF    BLUE   EYES 

the  only  person  who  recognized  them,  either  going  or 
coming ;  and  how  dreadfully  this  terrified  Elfride.  He 
told  how  he  waited  in  the  fields  whilst  this  then  re- 
proachful sweetheart  went  for  her  pony,  and  how  the 
last  kiss  he  ever  gave  her  was  given  a  mile  out  of  the 
town,  on  the  way  to  Endelstow. 

These  things  Stephen  related  with  a  will.  He 
believed  that  in  doing  so  he  established  word  by  word 
the  reasonableness  of  his  claim  to  Elfride. 

'  Curse  her  !  curse  that  woman  ! — that  miserable 
letter  that  parted  us  !     O  God  ! ' 

Knight  began  pacing  the  room  again,  and  uttered 
this  at  further  end. 

'  What  did  you  say  ?  '  said  Stephen,  turning  round. 

*  Say  ?  Did  I  say  anything  ?  Oh,  I  was  merely 
thinking  about  your  story,  and  the  oddness  of  my 
having  a  fancy  for  the  same  woman  afterwards.  And 
that  now  I — I  have  forgotten  her  almost ;  and  neither 
of  us  care  about  her,  except  just  as  a  friend,  you 
know,  eh  ? ' 

Knight  still  continued  at  the  further  end  of  the  room, 
somewhat  in  shadow. 

'  Exactly,'  said  Stephen,  inwardly  exultant,  for  he  was 
really  deceived  by  Knight's  off-hand  manner. 

Yet  he  was  deceived  less  by  the  completeness  of 
Knight's  disguise  than  by  the  persuasive  power  which 
lay  in  the  fact  that  Knight  had  never  before  deceived 
him  in  anything.  So  this  supposition  that  his  com- 
panion had  ceased  to  love  Elfride  was  an  enormous 
lightening  of  the  weight  which  had  turned  the  scale 
against  him. 

'  Admitting  that  Elfride  could  love  another  man  after 
you,'  said  the  elder,  under  the  same  varnish  of  careless 
criticism,  'she -was  none  the  worse  for  that  experience.' 

*  The  worse  ?     Of  course  she  was  none  the  worse.' 

'  Did  you  ever  think  it  a  wild  and  thoughtless  thing 
for  her  to  do  ?  ' 

429 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  Indeed,  I  never  did,'  said  Stephen.  '  I  persuaded 
her.  She  saw  no  harm  in  it  until  she  decided  to 
return,  nor  did  I ;  nor  was  there,  except  to  the  extent 
of  indiscretion.' 

*  Directly  she  thought  it  was  wrong  she  would  go  no 
further  ? ' 

'  That  was  it.  I  had  just  begun  to  think  it 
wrong  too.' 

'  Such  a  childish  escapade  might  have  been  misre- 
presented by  any  evil-disposed  person,  might  it  not  ? ' 

'  It  might ;  but  I  never  heard  that  it  was.  Nobody 
who  really  knew  all  the  circumstances  would  have  done 
otherwise  than  smile.  If  all  the  world  had  known  it, 
Elfride  would  still  have  remained  the  only  one  who 
thought  her  action  a  sin.  Poor  child,  she  always  per- 
sisted in  thinking  so,  and  was  frightened  more  than 
enough.' 

'  Stephen,  do  you  love  her  now  ?  ' 

'  Well,  I  like  her ;  I  alw^ays  shall,  you  know,'  he  said 
evasively,  and  with  all  the  strategy  love  suggested.     '  But 
I  have  not   seen  her  for  so  long  that  I  can  hardly  be 
expected  to  love  her.     Do  you  love  her  still  ?  ' 
\j  '  How  shall  I  answer  without  being  ashamed  ?    What 

\     fickle  beings  we  men   are,   Stephen  !      Men  may  love\ 
N^  strongest  for  a  while,  but  women  love  longest.     I  used 
to  love  her — in  my  way,  you  know.' 

'  Yes,  I  understand.  Ah,  and  I  used  to  love  her  in 
my  way.  In  fact,  I  loved  her  a  good  deal  at  one  time ; 
but  travel  has  a  tendency  to  obliterate  early  fancies.' 

'  It  has — it  has,  truly.' 

Perhaps  the  most  extraordinary  feature  in  this  con- 
versation was  the  circumstance  that,  though  each  inter- 
locutor had  at  first  his  suspicions  of  the  other's  abiding 
passion  awakened  by  several  Httle  acts,  neither  would 
allow  himself  to  see  that  his  friend  might  now  be  speak- 
ing deceitfully  as  well  as  he. 

'  Stephen,'  resumed  Knight,  '  now  that  matters  are 
430 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

smooth  between  us,  I  think  I  must  leave  you.  You 
won't  mind  my  hurrying  off  to  my  quarters  ?  ' 

'  You'll  stay  to  some  Sort  of  supper  surely  ?  Why 
didn't  you  come  to  dinner !  '  ^ 

'  Yoii  JTiust  really  excuse  me  this  once.' 

*  Then  you'll  drop  in  to  breakfast  to-morrow.' 
'  I  shall  be  rather  pressed  for  time.' 

'An  early  breakfast,  which  shall  interfere  with 
nothing  ? ' 

*  I'll  come,'  said  Knight,  with  as  much  readiness  as  it 
was  possible  to  graft  upon  a  huge  stock  of  reluctance. 
'  Yes,  early ;  eight  o'clock  say,  as  we  are  under  the  same 
roof.' 

*  Any  time  you  like.     Eight  it  shall  be.' 

And  Knight  left  him.  To  wear  a  mask,  to  dissemble 
his  feelings  as  he  had  in  their  late  miserable  conversa- 
tion, was  such  torture  that  he  could  support  it  no  longer. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  Knight's  hfe  that  he  had  ever 
been  so  entirely  the  player  of  a  part.  And  the  man  he 
had  thus  deceived  was  Stephen,  who  had  docilely  looked 
up  to  him  from  youth  as  a  superior  of  unblemished 
integrity. 

He  went  to  bed,  and  allowe(^^fce  fever  of  his  excite- 
ment to  rage  uncontrolled.  Stephen — it  was  only  he 
who  was  the  rival — only  Stephen  !  There  was  an  anti-^ 
climax  of  absurdity  which  Knight,  wretched  and  con- 1 
science-stricken  as  he  was,  could  not  help  recognizing.' 
Stephen  was  but  a  boy  to  him.  Where  the  great  grief 
lay  was  in  perceiving  that  the  very  innocence  of  Elfride 
in  reading  her  little  fault  as  one  so  grave  was  what  had 
fatally  misled  him.  Had  Elfride,  with  any  degree  of 
coolness,  asserted  that  she  had  done  no  harm,  the 
poisonous  breath  of  the  dead  Mrs.  Jethway  would  have 
been  inoperative.  Why  did  he  not  make  his  little  docile 
girl  tell  more  ?  If  on  that  subject  he  had  only  exer- 
cised the  imperativeness  customary  with  him  on  others, 
all  might  have  been  revealed.  It  smote  his  heart  like 
431 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

a  switch  when  he  remembered  how  gently  she  had 
borne  his  scourging  speeches,  never  answering  him  with 
a  single  reproach,  only  assuring  him  of  her  unbounded 
love. 

Knight  blessed  Elfride  for  her  sweetness,  and  forgot 
her  fault.  He  pictured  with  a  vivid  fancy  those  fair 
summer  scenes  with  her.  He  again  saw  her  as  at  their 
first  meeting,  timid  at  speaking,  yet  in  her  eagerness 
to  be  explanatory  borne  forward  almost  against  her 
will.  How  she  would  wait  for  him  in  green  places, 
without  showing  any  of  the  ordinary  womanly  affecta- 
tions of  indifference !  How  proud  she  was  to  be  seen 
walking  with  him,  bearing  legibly  in  her  eyes  the  thought 
that  he  was  the  greatest  genius  in  the  world ! 

He  formed  a  resolution ;  and  after  that  could  make 
pretence  of  slumber  no  longer.  Rising  and  dressing 
himself,  he  sat  down  and  waited  for  day. 

That  night  Stephen  was  restless  too.  Not  because 
of  the  unwontedness  of  a  return  to  English  scenery; 
not  because  he  was  about  to  meet  his  parents,  and  settle 
down  for  awhile  to  English  cottage  Hfe.  He  was  in- 
dulging in  dreams,  and  for  the  nonce  the  warehouses  of 
Bombay  and  the  plains  and  forts  of  Poonah  were  but 
a  shadow's  shadow.  His  dream  was  based  on  this  one 
atom  of  fact :  Elfride  and  Knight  had  become  separated, 
and  their  engagement  was  as  if  it  had  never  been. 
Their  rupture  must  have  occurred  soon  after  Stephen's 
discovery  of  the  fact  of  their  union  ;  and,  Stephen  went 
on  to  think,  what  so  probable  as  that  a  return  of  her 
errant  affection  to  himself  was  the  cause  ? 

Stephen's  opinions  in  this  matter  were  those  of  a 
lover,  and  not  the  balanced  judgment  of  an  unbiassed 
spectator.  His  naturally  sanguine  spirit  built  hope 
upon  hope,  till  scarcely  a  doubt  remained  in  his  mind 
that  her  lingering  tenderness  for  him  had  in  some  way 
been  perceived  by  Knight,  and  had  provoked  their 
parting. 

432 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

To  go  and  see  Elfride  was  the  suggestion  of  impulses 
it  was  impossible  to  withstand.  At  any  rate,  to  run 
down  from  St.  Launce's  to  Castle  Boterel,  a  distance 
of  less  than  twenty  miles,  and  glide  like  a  ghost 
about  their  old  haunts,  making  stealthy  inquiries 
about  her,  would  be  a  fascinating  way  of  passing  the 
first  spare  hours  after  reaching  home  on  the  day  after 
the  morrow. 

He  was  now  a  richer  man  than  heretofore,  standing 
on  his  own  bottom ;  and  the  definite  position  in  which 
he  had  rooted  himself  nullified  old  local  distinctions. 
He  had  become  illustrious  even  sanguine  clarus,  judging 
from  the  tone  of  the  worthy  Mayor  of  St.  Launce's. 


XXXIX 

'Each  to  the  loved  one's  side.' 

1  HE  friends  and  rivals  breakfasted  together  the  next 
morning.  Not  a  word  was  said  on  either  side  upon 
the  matter  discussed  the  previous  evening  so  glibly  and 
so  hollowly.  Stephen  was  absorbed  the  greater  part  of 
the  time  in  wishing  he  were  not  forced  to  stay  in  town 
yet  another  day. 

'  I  don't  intend  to  leave  for  St.  Launce's  till  to-morrow, 
as  you  know,'  he  said  to  Knight  at  the  end  of  the  meal. 
'  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  to-day  ?  ' 

'  I  have  an  engagement  just  before  ten,'  said  Knight 
deliberately ;  '  and  after  that  time  I  must  call  upon  two 
or  three  people.' 

'  I'll  look  for  you  this  evening,'  said  Stephen. 

*  Yes,  do.  You  may  as  well  come  and  dine  with 
me;  that  is,  if  we  can  meet.  I  may  not  sleep  in 
London  to-night ;  in  fact,  I  am  absolutely  unsettled  as 
to  my  movements  yet.  However,  the  first  thing  I  am 
going  to  do  is  to  get  my  baggage  shifted  from  this  place 
to  Bede's  Inn.  Good-bye  for  the  present.  I'll  write, 
you  know,  if  I  can't  meet  you.' 

It  now  wanted  a  quarter  to  nine  o'clock.  When 
Knight  was  gone,  Stephen  felt  yet  more  impatient  of 
434 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

the  circumstance  that  another  day  would  have  to  drag 
itself  away  wearily  before  he  could  set  out  for  that  spot 
of  earth  whereon  a  soft  thought  of  him  might  perhaps  be 
nourished  still.  On  a  sudden  he  admitted  to  his  mind 
the  possibility  that  the  engagement  he  was  waiting  in 
town  to  keep  m.ight  be  postponed  without  much  harm. 

It  was  no  sooner  perceived  than  attempted.  Look- 
ing at  his  watch,  he  found  it  wanted  forty  minutes  to 
the  departure  of  the  ten  o'clock  train  from  Paddington, 
which  left  him  a  surplus  quarter  of  an  hour  before  it 
would  be  necessary  to  start  for  the  station. 

Scribbling  a  hasty  note  or  two — one  putting  off  the 
business  meeting,  another  to  Knight  apologizing  for  not 
being  able  to  see  him  in  the  evening — paying  his  bill, 
and  leaving  his  heavier  luggage  to  follow  him  by  goods- 
train,  he  jumped  into  a  cab  and  rattled  off  to  the  Great 
Western  Station. 

Shortly  afterwards  he  took  his  seat  in  the  railway 
carriage. 

The  guard  paused  on  his  whistle,  to  let  into  the  next 
compartment  to  Smith's  a  man  of  whom  Stephen  had 
caught  but  a  hasty  glimpse  as  he  ran  across  the  platform 
at  the  last  moment. 

Smith  sank  back  into  the  carriage,  stilled  by  per- 
plexity. The  man  was  like  Knight — astonishingly  Hke 
him.  Was  it  possible  it  could  be  he?  To  have  got 
there  he  must  have  driven  like  the  wind  to  Bede's  Inn, 
and  hardly  have  alighted  before  starting  again.  No,  it 
could  not  be  he ;  that  was  not  his  way  of  doing  things. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  journey  Stephen  Smith's 
thoughts  busied  themselves  till  his  brain  seemed  swollen. 
One  subject  was  concerning  his  own  approaching  actions. 
He  was  a  day  earlier  than  his  letter  to  his  parents  had 
stated,  and  his  arrangement  with  them  had  been  that 
they  should  meet  him  at  Plymouth;  a  plan  which 
pleased  the  worthy  couple  beyond  expression.  Once 
before  the  same  engagement  had  been  made,  which  he 
435 


A    PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

had  then  quashed  by  ante-dating  his  arrival.  This  time 
he  would  go  right  on  to  Castle  Boterel ;  ramble  in  that 
well-known  neighbourhood  during  the  evening  and  next 
morning,  making  inquiries ;  and  return  to  Plymouth 
to  meet  them  as  arranged — a  contrivance  which  would 
leave  their  cherished  project  undisturbed,  relieving  his 
own  impatience  also. 

At  Chippenham  there  was  a  Httle  waiting,  and  some 
loosening  and  attaching  of  carriages. 

Stephen  looked  out.  At  the  same  moment  another 
man's  head  emerged  from  the  adjoining  window.  Each 
looked  in  the  other's  face. 

Knight  and  Stephen  confronted  one  another. 

*  You  here  ! '  said  the  younger  man. 

*Yes.  It  seems  that  you  are  too,'  said  Knight, 
strangely. 

'  Yes.' 

The  selfishness  of  love  and  the  cruelty  of  jealousy 
were  fairly  exemplified  at  this  moment.  Each  of  the 
two  men  looked  at  his  friend  as  he  had  never  looked 
at  him  before.  Each  was  troubled  at  the  other's 
presence. 

'  I  thought  you  said  you  were  not  coming  till  to- 
morrow,' remarked  Knight. 

'  I  did.  It  was  an  afterthought  to  come  to-day. 
This  journey  was  your  engagement,  then  ?  ' 

'  No,  it  was  not.  This  is  an  afterthought  of  mine 
too.  I  left  a  note  to  explain  it,  and  account  for  my  not 
being  able  to  meet  you  this  evening  as  we  arranged.' 

'  So  did  I  for  you.' 

'  You  don't  look  well :   you  did  not  this  morning.' 

'  I  have  a  headache.  You  are  paler  to-day  than  you 
were.' 

'  I,  too,  have  been  suffering  from  headache.  We 
have  to  wait  here  a  few  minutes,  I  think.' 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  platform,  each  one 
more    and    more    embarrassingly   concerned    with    the 
436 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

awkwardness  of  his  friend's  presence.  They  reached 
the  end  of  the  footway,  and  paused  in  sheer  absent- 
mindedness.  Stephen's  vacant  eyes  rested  upon  the 
operations  of  some  porters,  who  were  shifting  a  dark  and 
curious-looking  van  from  the  rear  of  the  train,  to  shunt 
another  which  was  between  it  and  the  fore  part  of  the 
train.  This  operation  having  been  concluded,  the  two 
friends  returned  to  the  side  of  their  carriage. 

'  Will  you  come  in  here  ? '  said  Knight,  not  very 
warmly. 

'  I  have  my  rug  and  portmanteau  and  umbrella  with 
me :  it  is  rather  bothering  to  move  now,'  said  Stephen 
reluctantly.     '  Why  not  you  come  here  ?  ' 

'  I  have  my  traps  too.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
shift  them,  for  I  shall  see  you  again,  you  know.' 

'  Oh,  yes.' 

And  each  got  into  his  own  place.  Just  at  starting, 
a  man  on  the  platform  held  up  his  hands  and  stopped 
the  train. 

Stephen  looked  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

One  of  the  officials  was  exclaiming  to  another,  '  That 
carriage  should  have  been  attached  again.  Can't  you 
see  it  is  for  the  main  line  ?  Quick  !  What  fools  there 
are  in  the  world  ! ' 

'  What  a  confounded  nuisance  these  stoppages  are  ! ' 
exclaimed  Knight  impatiently,  looking  out  from  his 
compartment.      '  What  is  it  ?  ' 

'  That  singular  carriage  we  saw  has  been  unfastened 
from  our  train  by  mistake,  it  seems,'  said  Stephen. 

He  was  watching  the  process  of  attaching  it.  The 
van  or  carriage,  which  he  now  recognized  as  having 
seen  at  Paddington  before  they  started,  was  rich  and 
solemn  rather  than  gloomy  in  aspect.  It  seemed  to  be 
quite  new,  and  of  modern  design,  and  its  impressive 
personality  attracted  the  notice  of  others  beside  himself. 
He  beheld  it  gradually  wheeled  forward  by  two  men  on 
each  side  :  slower  and  more  sadly  it  seemed  to  approach: 
437 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

then  a  slight  concussion,  and  they  were  connected  with 
it,  and  off  again. 

Stephen  sat  all  the  afternoon  pondering  upon  the 
reason  of  Knight's  unexpected  reappearance.  Was  he 
going  as  far  as  Castle  Boterel  ?  If  so,  he  could  only 
have  one  object  in  view — a  visit  to  Elfride.  And  what 
an  idea  it  seemed  ! 

At  Plymouth  Smith  partook  of  a  little  refreshment, 
and  then  went  round  to  the  side  from  which  the  train 
started  for  Camelton,  the  new  station  near  Castle  Boterel 
and  Endelstow. 

Knight  was  already  there. 

Stephen  walked  up  and  stood  beside  him*  without 
speaking.  Two  men  at  this  moment  crept  out  from 
among  the  wheels  of  the  waiting  train. 

'  The  carriage  is  Hght  enough,'  said  one  in  a  grim 
tone.     *  Light  as  vanity ;  full  of  nothing.' 

*  Nothing  in  size,  but  a  good  deal  in  signification,' 
said  the  other,  a  man  of  brighter  mind  and  manners. 

Smith  then  perceived  that  to  their  train  was  attached 
that  same  carriage  of  grand  and  dark  aspect  which  had 
haunted  them  all  the  way  from  London. 

'  You  are  going  on,  I  suppose  ?  '  said  Knight,  turning 
to  Stephen,  after  idly  looking  at  the  same  object. 

'  Yes.' 

*  We  may  as  well  travel  together  for  the  remaining 
distance,  may  we  not  ?  ' 

'  Certainly  we  will ; '  and  they  both  entered  the  same 
door. 

Evening  drew  on  apace.  It  chanced  to  be  the  eve 
of  St.  Valentine's — that  bishop  of  blessed  memory  to 
youthful  lovers — and  the  sun  shone  low  under  the  rim 
of  a  thick  hard  cloud,  decorating  the  eminences  of  the 
landscape  with  crowns  of  orange  fire.  As  the  train 
changed  its  direction  on  a  curve,  the  same  rays  stretched 
in  through  the  window,  and  coaxed  open  Knight's  half- 
closed  eyes. 

438 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

'You  will  get  out  at  St.  Launce's,  I  suppose?'  he 
murmured. 

*  No,'  said  Stephen,  '  I  am  not  expected  till  to- 
morrow.'    Knight  was  silent. 

'  And  you — are  you  going  to  Endelstow  ?  '  said  the 
younger  man  pointedly. 

*  Since  you  ask,  I  can  do  no  less  than  say  I  am, 
Stephen,'  continued  Knight  slowly,  and  with  more 
resolution  of  manner  than  he  had  shown  all  the  day. 
'  I  am  going  to  Endelstow  to  see  if  Elfride  Swancourt 
is  still  free ;  and  if  so,  to  ask  her  to  be  my  wife.' 

*  So  am  I,'  said  Stephen  Smith. 

*  I  think  you'll  lose  your  labour,'  Knight  returned 
with  decision. 

'  Naturally  you  do.'  There  was  a  strong  accent  of 
bitterness  in  Stephen's  voice.  '  You  might  have  said 
hope  instead  of  think ^  he  added. 

'  I  might  have  done  no  such  thing.  I  gave  you  my 
opinion.  Elfride  Swancourt  may  have  loved  you  once, 
no  doubt,  but  it  was  when  she  was  so  young  that  she 
hardly  knew  her  own  mind.' 

*  Thank  you,'  said  Stephen  laconically.  '  She  knew 
her  mind  as  well  as  I  did.  We  are  the  same  age.  If 
you  hadn't  interfered ' 

'  Don't  say  that — don't  say  it,  Stephen  !  How 
can  you  make  out  that  I  interfered?  Be  just, 
please ! ' 

'  Well,'  said  his  friend,  '  she  was  mine  before  she  was 
yours — you  know  that !  And  it  seemed  a  hard  thing 
to  find  you  had  got  her,  and  that  if  it  had  not  been 
for  you,  all  might  have  turned  out  well  for  me.'  Stephen 
spoke  with  a  swelling  heart,  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow to  hide  the  emotion  that  would  make  itself  visible 
upon  his  face. 

*  It  is  absurd,'  said  Knight  in  a  kinder  tone,  *  for 
you  to  look  at  the  matter  in  that  light.  What  I  tell  you 
is  for  your  good.     You  naturally  do  not  like  to  realize 

439 


A   PAIR   OF  BLUE   EYES 

the  truth — that  her  hking  for  you  was  only  a  girl's  first 
fancy,  which  has  no  root  ever.' 

'  It  is  not  true  ! '  said  Stephen  passionately.  '  It  was 
you  put  me  out.  And  now  you'll  be  pushing  in  again 
between  us,  and  depriving  me  of  my  chance  again  ! 
My  right,  that's  what  it  is  !  How  ungenerous  of  you  to 
come  anew  and  try  to  take  her  away  from  me  !  When 
you  had  won  her,  I  did  not  interfere ;  and  you  might,  I 
think,  Mr.  Knight,  do  by  me  as  I  did  by  you ! ' 

'  Don't  "  Mr."  me ;  you  are  as  well  in  the  world  as 
I  am  now.' 

'  First  love  is  deepest ;  and  that  was  mine.' 

'  Who  told  you  that  ?  '  said  Knight  superciliously. 

'  I  had  her  first  love.  And  it  was  through  me  that 
you  and  she  parted.     I  can  guess  that  well  enough.' 

'  It  was.  And  if  I  were  to  explain  to  you  in  what 
way  that  operated  in  parting  us,  I  should  convince  you 
that  you  do  quite  wrong  in  intruding  upon  her — that, 
as  I  said  at  first,  your  labour  will  be  lost.  I  don't 
choose  to  explain,  because  the  particulars  are  painful. 
But  if  you  won't  Hsten  to  me,  go  on,  for  Heaven's  sake. 
I  don't  care  what  you  do,  my  boy.' 

'  You  have  no  right  to  domineer  over  me  as  you  do. 
Just  because,  when  I  was  a  lad,  I  was  accustomed  to 
look  up  to  you  as  a  master,  and  you  helped  me  a  Httle, 
for  which  I  was  grateful  to  you  and  have  loved  you,  you 
assume  too  much  now,  and  step  in  before  me.  It  is 
cruel — it  is  unjust — of  you  to  injure  me  so  ! ' 

Knight  showed  himself  keenly  hurt  at  this. 
'  Stephen,  those  words  are  untrue  and  unworthy  of  any 
man,  and  they  are  unworthy  of  you.  You  know  you 
wrong  me.  If  you  have  ever  profited  by  any  instruction 
of  mine,  I  am  only  too  glad  to  know  it.  You  know  it 
was  given  ungrudgingly,  and  that  I  have  never  once 
looked  upon  it  as  making  you  in  any  way  a  debtor 
to  me.' 

Stephen's  naturally  gentle  nature  was  touched,  and 
440 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

it  was  in  a  troubled  voice  that  he  said,  '  Yes,  yes.  I 
am  unjust  in  that — I  own  it.' 

'This  is  St.  Launce's  Station,  I  think.  Are  you 
going  to  get  out  ?  ' 

Knight's  manner  of  returning  to  the  matter  in  hand 
drew  Stephen  again  into  himself.  '  No ;  I  told  you  I 
was  going  to  Endelstow,'  he  resolutely  rephed. 

Knight's  features  became  impassive,  and  he  said  no 
more.  The  train  continued  rattling  on,  and  Stephen 
leant  back  in  his  corner  and  closed  his  eyes.  The 
yellows  of  evening  had  turned  to  browns,  the  dusky 
shades  thickened,  and  a  flying  cloud  of  dust  occasion- 
ally stroked  the  window — borne  upon  a  chilling  breeze 
which  blew  from  the  north-east.  The  previously  gilded 
but  now  dreary  hills  began  to  lose  their  daylight  aspects 
of  rotundity,  and  to  become  black  discs  vandyked  against 
the  sky,  all  nature  wearing  the  cloak  that  six  o'clock  casts 
over  the  landscape  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

Stephen  started  up  in  bewilderment  after  a  long  still- 
ness, and  it  was  some  time  before  he  recollected  himself. 

'  Well,  how  real,  how  real ! '  he  exclaimed,  brushing 
his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

*  What  is  ?  '  said  Knight. 

'  That  dream.  I  fell  asleep  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
have  had  a  dream — the  most  vivid  I  ever  remember.' 

He  wearily  looked  out  into  the  gloom.  They  were 
now  drawing  near  to  Camelton.  The  lighting  of  the 
lamps  was  perceptible  through  the  veil  of  evening — each 
flame  starting  into  existence  at  intervals,  and  blinking 
weakly  against  the  gusts  of  wind. 

'  What  did  you  dream  ? '  said  Knight  moodily. 

'  Oh,  nothing  to  be  told.  'Twas  a  sort  of  incubus. 
There  is  never  anything  in  dreams.' 

'  I  hardly  supposed  there  was.' 

'  I  know  that.  However,  what  I  so  vividly  dreamt 
was  this,  since  you  would  like  to  hear.  It  was  the 
brightest  of  bright  mornings  at  East  Endelstow  Church, 
441 


A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 

and  you  and  I  stood  by  the  font.  Far  away  in  the 
chancel  Lord  Luxellian  was  standing  alone,  cold  and 
impassive,  and  utterly  unlike  his  usual  self :  but  I  knew 
it  was  he.  Inside  the  altar  rail  stood  a  strange  clergy- 
man with  his  book  open.  He  looked  up  and  said  to 
Lord  Luxellian,  "  Where's  the  bride  ?  "  Lord  Luxellian 
said,  "  There's  no  bride."  At  that  moment  somebody 
came  in  at  the  door,  and  I  knew  her  to  be  Lady 
Luxellian  who  died.  He  turned  and  said  to  her,  "  I 
thought  you  were  in  the  vault  below  us ;  but  that  could 
have  only  been  a  Sream  of  mine.  Come  on."  Then 
she  came  on.  And  in  brushing  between  us  she  chilled 
me  so  with  cold  that  I  exclaimed,  "  The  life  is  gone  out 
of  me  !  "  and,  in  the  way  of  dreams,  I  awoke.  But  here 
we  are  at  Camelton.' 

They  were  slowly  entering  the  station. 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? '  said  Knight.  *  Do 
you  really  intend  to  call  on  the  Swancourts  ? ' 

'  By  no  means.  I  am  going  to  make  inquiries  first. 
I  shall  stay  at  the  Luxellian  Arms  to-night.  You  will 
go  right  on  to  Endelstow,  I  suppose,  at  once  ? ' 

'  I  can  hardly  do  that  at  this  time  of  the  day. 
Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  the  family — her  father, 
at  any  rate — is  at  variance  with  me  as  much  as  with 
you.' 

'  I  didn't  know  it.' 

'And  that  I  cannot  rush  into  the  house  as  an  old 
friend  any  more  than  you  can.  Certainly  I  have  the 
privileges  of  a  distant  relationship,  whatever  they 
may  be.' 

Knight  let  down  the  window,  and  looked  ahead. 
'  There  are  a  great  many  people  at  the  station,'  he  said. 
'  They  seem  all  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  us.' 

When  the  train  stopped,  the  half-estranged  friends 

could  perceive  by  the  lamplight  that  the  assemblage  of 

idlers  enclosed  as  a  kernel  a  group  of  men  in  black 

cloaks.     A  side  gate  in  the  platform  railing  was  open, 

442 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

and  outside  this  stood  a  dark  vehicle,  which  they  could 
not  at  first  characterize.  Then  Knight  saw  on  its  upper 
part  forms  against  the  sky  like  cedars  by  night,  and 
knew  the  vehicle  to  be  a  hearse.  Few  people  were  at 
the  carriage  doors  to  meet  the  passengers — the  majority 
had  congregated  at  this  upper  end.  Knight  and 
Stephen  alighted,  and  turned  for  a  moment  in  the 
same  direction. 

The  sombre  van,  which  had  accompanied  them  all 
day  from  London,  now  began  to  reveal  that  their 
destination  was  also  its  own.  It  had  been  drawn  up 
exactly  opposite  the  open  gate.  The  bystanders  all 
fell  back,  forming  a  clear  lane  from  the  gateway  to 
the  van,  and  the  men  in  cloaks  entered  the  latter  con- 
veyance. 

'  They  are  labourers,  I  fancy,'  said  Stephen.  *  Ah,  it 
is  strange ;  but  I  recognize  three  of  them  as  Endelstow 
men.     Rather  remarkable  this.' 

Presently  they  began  to  come  out,  two  and  two ;  and 
under  the  rays  of  the  lamp  they  were  seen  to  bear 
between  them  a  light-coloured  coffin  of  satin-wood, 
brightly  polished,  and  without  a  nail.  The  eight  men 
took  the  burden  upon  their  shoulders,  and  slowly 
crossed  with  it  over  to  the  gate. 

Knight  and  Stephen  went  outside,  and  came  close 
to  the  procession  as  it  moved  off.  A  carriage  belong- 
ing to  the  cortege  turned  round  close  to  a  lamp.  The 
rays  shone  in  upon  the  face  of  the  vicar  of  Endelstow, 
Mr.  Swancourt— looking  many  years  older  than  when 
they  had  last  seen  him.  Knight  and  Stephen  involun- 
tarily drew  back. 

Knight  spoke  to  a  bystander.  '  What  has  Mr. 
Swancourt  to  do  with  that  funeral  ?  ' 

'  He  is  the  lady's  father,'  said  the  bystander. 

<  What  lady's  father  ?  '  said  Knight,  in  a  voice  so 
hollow  that  the  man  stared  at  him. 

'  The  father  of  the  lady  in  the  coffin.  She  died  in 
443 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

London,  you  know,  and  has  been  brought  here  by  this 
train.  She  is  to  be  taken  home  to-night,  and  buried 
to-morrow.' 

Knight  stood  staring  blindly  at  where  the  hearse  had 
been ;  as  if  he  saw  it,  or  some  one,  there.  Then  he 
turned,  and  beheld  the  lithe  form  of  Stephen  bowed 
down  like  that  of  an  old  man.  He  took  his  young 
friend's  arm,  and  led  him  away  from  the  light. 


XL 

Welcome,  proud  lady." 

llALF  an  hour  has  passed.  Two  miserable  men  are 
wandering  in  the  darkness  up  the  miles  of  road  from 
Camelton  to  Endelstow. 

'  Has  she  broken  her  heart  ? '  said  Henry  Knight. 
*  Can  it  be  that  I  have  killed  her  ?  I  was  bitter  with 
her,  Stephen,  and  she  has  died !  And  may  God  have 
no  mercy  upon  me  ! ' 

'  How  can  you  have  killed  her  more  than  I  ? ' 

'  Why,  I  went  away  from  her — stole  away  almost 
— and  didn't  tell  her  I  should  not  come  again ; 
and  at  that  last  meeting  I  did  not  kiss  her  once, 
but  let  her  miserably  go.  I  have  been  a  fool — a 
fool !  I  wish  the  most  abject  confession  of  it  before 
crowds  of  my  countrymen  could  in  any  way  make 
amends  to  my  darling  for  the  intense  cruelty  I  have 
shown  her ! ' 

'  Your  darling ! '  said  Stephen,  with  a  sort  of  laugh. 
'  Any  man  can  say  that,  I  suppose ;  any  man  can.  I 
know  this,  she  was  my  darling  before  she  was  yours  ; 
and  after  too.  If  anybody  has  a  right  to  call  her  his 
own,  it  is  I.' 

'You  talk  like  a  man  in  the  dark;  which  is  what 
445 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE  EYES 

you  are.     Did  she  ever  do  anything  for  you  ?    Risk  her 
name,  for  instance,  for  you  ? ' 

*  Yes,  she  did,'  said  Stephen  emphatically. 

*  Not  entirely.  Did  she  ever  live  for  you — prove  she 
could  not  hve  without  you — laugh  and  weep  for  you  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Never  !  Did  she  ever  risk  her  life  for  you — no  ! 
My  darhng  did  for  me.' 

'  Then  it  was  in  kindness  only.  When  did  she  risk 
her  life  for  you  ?  ' 

'  To  save  mine  on  the  cliff  yonder.  The  poor  child 
was  with  me  looking  at  the  approach  of  the  Puffin 
steamboat,  and  I  slipped  down.  We  both  had  a  narrow 
escape.     I  wish  we  had  died  there  ! ' 

'  Ah,  but  wait,'  Stephen  pleaded  with  wet  eyes.  '  She 
went  on  that  cUff  to  see  me  arrive  home :  she  had 
promised  it.  She  told  me  she  would  months  before. 
And  would  she  have  gone  there  if  she  had  not  cared 
for  me  at  all  ?  ' 

'  You  have  an  idea  that  Elfride  died  for  you,  no 
doubt,'  said  Knight,  with  a  mournful  sarcasm  too  nerve- 
less to  support  itself. 

'  Never  mind.  If  we  find  that — that  she  died  yours, 
I'll  say  no  more  ever,' 

'  And  if  we  find  she  died  yours,  I'll  say  no  more.' 

'■  Very  well — so  it  shall  be.' 

The  dark  clouds  into  which  the  sun  had  sunk  had 
begun  to  drop  rain  in  an  increasing  volume. 

'  Can  we  wait  somewhere  here  till  this  shower  is 
over  ?  '  said  Stephen  desultorily. 

*  As  you  will.  But  it  is  not  worth  while.  We'll  hear 
the  particulars,  and  return.  Don't  let  people  know  who 
we  are.     I  am  not  much  now.' 

They  had  reached  a  point  at  which  the  road  branched 

into  two — just  outside  the  west  village,  one  fork  of  the 

diverging  routes  passing  into  the  latter  place,  the  other 

stretching  on  to  East  Endelstow.      Having  come  some 

446 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE  EYES 

of  the  distance  by  the  footpath,  they  now  found  that  the 
hearse  was  only  a  little  in  advance  of  them. 

*  I  fancy  it  has  turned  off  to  East  Endelstow.  Can 
you  see  ? ' 

'  I  cannot.     You  must  be  mistaken.' 

Knight  and  Stephen  entered  the  village.  A  bar  of 
fiery  light  lay  across  the  road,  proceeding  from  the  half- 
open  door  of  a  smithy,  in  which  bellows  were  heard 
blowing  and  a  hammer  ringing.  The  rain  had  increased, 
and  they  mechanically  turned  for  shelter  towards  the 
warm  and  cosy  scene. 

Close  at  their  heels  came  another  man,  without  over- 
coat or  umbrella,  and  with  a  parcel  under  his  arm. 

*A  wet  evening,'  he  said  to  the  two  friends,  and 
passed  by  them.  They  stood  in  the  outer  penthouse, 
but  the  man  went  in  to  the  fire. 

The  smith  ceased  his  blowing,  and  began  talking  to 
the  man  who  had  entered. 

'  I  have  walked  all  the  way  from  Camelton,'  said  the 
latter.     '  Was  obliged  to  come  to-night,  you  know.' 

He  held  the  parcel,  which  was  a  flat  one,  towards  the 
firelight,  to  learn  if  the  rain  had  penetrated  it.  Resting 
it  edgewise  on  the  forge,  he  supported  it  perpendicularly 
with  one  hand,  wiping  his  face  with  the  handkerchief  he 
held  in  the  other. 

*  I  suppose  you  know  what  I've  got  here  ? '  he 
observed  to  the  smith. 

'  No,  I  don't,'  said  the  smith,  pausing  again  on  his 
bellows. 

*  As  the  rain's  not  over,  I'll  show  you,'  said  the  bearer. 
He  laid  the  thin  and  broad  package,  which  had  acute 

angles  in  different  directions,  flat  upon  the  anvil,  and 
the  smith  blew  up  the  fire  to  give  him  more  fight. 
First,  after  untying  the  package,  a  sheet  of  brown  paper 
was  removed :  this  was  laid  flat.  Then  he  unfolded  a 
piece  of  baize :  this  also  he  spread  flat  on  the  paper. 
The  third  covering  was  a  wrapper  of  tissue  paper,  which 
447 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

was  spread  out  in  its  turn.  The  enclosure  was  revealed, 
and  he  held  it  up  for  the  smith's  inspection. 

'  Oh  — I  see  ! '  said  the  smith,  kindling  with  a  chas- 
tened interest,  and  drawing  close.  '  Poor  young  lady — 
ah,  terrible  melancholy  thing — so  soon  too  ! ' 

Knight  and  Stephen  turned  their  heads  and  looked. 

*  And  what's  that  ?  '  continued  the  smith. 

'That's  the  coronet — beautifully  finished,  isn't  it? 
Ah,  that  cost  some  money ! ' 

'  'Tis  as  fine  a  bit  of  metal  work  as  ever  I  see — that  'tis.' 

'  It  came  from  the  same  people  as  the  coffin,  you 
know,  but  was  not  ready  soon  enough  to  be  sent  round 
to  the  house  in  London  yesterday.  I've  got  to  fix  it  on 
this  very  night.' 

The  carefully-packed  articles  were  a  coffin-plate  and 
coronet. 

Knight  and  Stephen  came  forward.  The  under- 
taker's man,  on  seeing  them  look  for  the  inscription, 
civilly  turned  it  round  towards  them,  and  each  read, 
almost  at  one  moment,  by  the  ruddy  light  of  the  coals  : 

raife  of  ^pEttser  S^ugo  3LuxElltan, 

iFitontfi  Baron  Huidlian; 

Bitti  JFfbruarg  lo,  i8— . 

They  read  it,  and  read  it,  and  read  it  again — 
Stephen  and  Knight  —  as  if  animated  by  one  soul. 
Then  Stephen  put  his  hand  upon  Knight's  arm,  and 
they  retired  from  the  yellow  glow,  further,  further,  till 
the  chill  darkness  enclosed  them  round,  and  the  quiet 
sky  asserted  its  presence  overhead  as  a  dim  grey  sheet 
of  blank  monotony. 

'  Where  shall  we  go  ?  '  said  Stephen. 

'  I  don't  know.' 

A  long  silence  ensued.  .  .  .  '  Elfride  married  ! '  said 
448 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

Stephen  then  in  a  thin  whisper,  as  if  he  feared  to  let 
the  assertion  loose  on  the  world. 

*  False,'  whispered  Knight. 

'  And  dead.  Denied  us  both.  I  hate  "  false  " — I 
hate  it ! ' 

Knight  made  no  answer. 

Nothing  was  heard  by  them  now  save  the  slow 
measurement  of  time  by  their  beating  pulses,  the  soft 
touch  of  the  dribbling  rain  upon  their  clothes,  and  the 
low  purr  of  the  blacksmith's  bellows  hard  by. 

*  Shall  we  follow  Elfie  any  further  ?  '  Stephen  said.        -^ 
'  No :    let  us  leave  her  alone.     She  is  beyond  our 

love,  and  let  her  be  beyond  our  reproach.     Since  we 
don't  know  half  the  reasons  that  made  her  do  as  she 
did,  Stephen,  how  can  we  say,  even  now,  that  she  was 
not  pure  and  true  in  heart  ?  '     Knight's  voice  had  now 
become  mild   and  gentle  as  a  child's.     He  went  on :   \ 
*  Can  we  call  her  ambitious  ?     No.     Circumstance  has,  v-S 
as  usual,  overpowered  her  purposes — fragile  and  delicate    ■ 
as  she — liable  to  be  overthrown  in  a  moment  by  the 
coarse  elements  of  accident.     I  know  that's  it, — don't 
you?' 

*  It  may  be — it  must  be.     Let  us  go  on.' 

They  began  to  bend  their  steps  towards  Castle 
Boterel,  whither  they  had  sent  their  bags  from  Camel- 
ton.  They  wandered  on  in  silence  for  many  minutes. 
Stephen  then  paused,  and  lightly  put  his  hand  within 
Knight's  arm. 

'  I  wonder  how  she  came  to  die,'  he  said  in  a  broken 
whisper.     '  Shall  we  return  and  learn  a  little  more  ?  ' 

They  turned  back  again,  and  entering  Endelstow  a 
second  time,  came  to  a  door  which  was  standing  open. 
It  was  that  of  an  inn  called  the  Welcome  Home,  and 
the  house  appeared  to  have  been  recently  repaired  and 
entirely  modernized.  The  name  too  was  not  that  of 
the  same  landlord  as  formerly,  but  Martin  Cannister's. 

Knight  and  Smith  entered.  The  inn  was  quite 
449  2  F 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

'*"  silent,  and  they  followed  the  passage  till  they  reachea 
the  kitchen,  where  a  huge  fire  was  burning,  which  roared 
up  the  chimney,  and  sent  over  the  floor,  ceiling,  and 
newly- whitened  walls  a  glare  so  intense  as  to  make  the 
candle  quite  a  secondary  light.  A  woman  in  a  white 
apron  and  black  gown  was  standing  there  alone  be- 
hind a  cleanly-scrubbed  deal  table.  Stephen  first,  and 
Knight  afterwards,  recognized  her  as  Unity,  who  had 
been  parlour-maid  at  the  vicarage  and  young  lady's-maid 
at  the  Crags. 

*  Unity,'  said  Stephen  softly,  *  don't  you  know  me  ?  ' 
She    looked    inquiringly  a    moment,  and    her    face 

cleared  up. 

'  Mr.  Smith — ay,  that  it  is  ! '  she  said.  *  And  that's 
Mr.  Knight.  I  beg  you  to  sit  down.  Perhaps  you 
know  that  since  I  saw  you  last  I  have  married  Martin 
Cannister.' 

'  How  long  have  you  been  married  ?  ' 

'  About  five  months.  We  were  married  the  same  day 
that  my  dear  Miss  Elfie  became  Lady  Luxellian.'  Tears 
appeared  in  Unity's  eyes,  and  filled  them,  and  fell  down 
her  cheek,  in  spite  of  efforts  to  the  contrary. 

The  pain  of  the  two  men  in  resolutely  controlling 
themselves  when  thus  exampled  to  admit  relief  of  the 
same  kind  was  distressing.  They  both  turned  their 
backs  and  walked  a  few  steps  away. 

Then  Unity  said,  *  Will  you  go  into  the  parlour, 
gentlemen  ? ' 

*  Let  us  stay  here  with  her,'  Knight  whispered,  and 
turning  said,  *  No ;  we  will  sit  here.  We  want  to  rest 
and  dry  ourselves  here  for  a  time,  if  you  please.' 

That  evening  the  sorrowing  friends  sat  with  their 
hostess  beside  the  large  fire,  Knight  in  the  recess 
formed  by  the  chimney  breast,  where  he  was  in  shade. 
And  by  showing  a  little  confidence  they  won  hers,  and 
she  told  them  what  they  had  stayed  to  hear — the  latter 
history  of  poor  Elfride. 

450 


A   PAIR  OF   BLUE   EYES 

'  One  day — after  you,  Mr.  Knight,  left  us  for  the  last 
time — she  was  missed  from  the  Crags,  and  her  father 
went  after  her,  and  brought  her  home  ill.  Where  she 
went  to,  I  never  knew — but  she  was  very  unwell  for 
weeks  afterwards.  And  she  said  to  me  that  she  didn't 
care  what  became  of  her,  and  she  wished  she  could  die. 
When  she  was  better,  I  said  she  would  live  to  be 
married  yet,  and  she  said  then,  "  Yes ;  I'll  do  anything 
for  the  benefit  of  my  family,  so  as  to  turn  my  useless 
Hfe  to  some  practical  account."  Well,  it  began  like  this 
about  Lord  Luxellian  courting  her.  The  first  Lady 
Luxellian  had  died,  and  he  was  in  great  trouble  because 
the  little  girls  were  left  motherless.  After  a  while  they 
used  to  come  and  see  her  in  their  Httle  black  frocks,  for 
they  liked  her  as  well  or  better  than  their  own  mother  — 
that's  true.  They  used  to  call  her  "Httle  mamma." 
These  children  made  her  a  shade  livelier,  but  she  was 
not  the  girl  she  had  been — I  could  see  that — and  she 
grew  thinner  a  good  deal.  Well,  my  lord  got  to  ask 
the  Swancourts  oftener  and  oftener  to  dinner — nobody 
else  of  his  acquaintance — and  at  last  the  vicar's  family 
were  backwards  and  forwards  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 
Well,  people  say  that  the  little  girls  asked  their  father 
to  let  Miss  Elfride  come  and  live  with  them,  and  that 
he  said  perhaps  he  would  if  they  were  good  children. 
However,  the  time  went  on,  and  one  day  I  said,  "  Miss 
Elfride,  you  don't  look  so  well  as  you  used  to;  and 
though  nobody  else  seems  to  notice  it  I  do."  She 
laughed  a  little,  and  said,  "  I  shall  live  to  be  married 
yet,  as  you  told  me." 

' "  Shall  you,  miss  ?  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  I  said. 

' "  Whom  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  married 
to  ?  "  she  said  again. 

' "  Mr.  Knight,  I  suppose,"  said  I. 

<  "  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  and  turned  off  so  white,  and  afore 
I  could  get  to  her  she  had  sunk  down  like  a  heap  of 
clothes,  and  fainted  away.  Well,  then,  she  came  to 
451 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE    EYES 

herself  after  a  time,  and  said,  "  Unity,  now  we'll  go  on 
with  our  conversation." 

'  "  Better  not  to-day,  miss,"  I  said. 

'  "  Yes,  we  will,"  she  said.  "  Whoiii  do  you  think 
I  am  going  to  be  married  to  ?  " 

' "  I  don't  know,"  I  said  this  time. 

*  "  Guess,"  she  said. 

'  "  'Tisn't  my  lord,  is  it  ?  "  says  I. 

' "  Yes,  'tis,"  says  she,  in  a  sick  wild  way. 

* "  But  he  don't  cjome  courting  much,"  I  said. 

* "  Ah !  you  don't  know,"  she  said,  and  told  me 
'twas  going  to  be  in  October.  After  that  she  freshened 
up  a  bit — whether  'twas  with  the  thought  of  getting 
away  from  home  or  not,  I  don't  know.  For,  perhaps, 
I  may  as  well  speak  plainly,  and  tell  you  that  her  home 
was  no  home  to  her  now.  Her  father  was  bitter  to  her 
and  harsh  upon  her ;  and  though  Mrs.  Swancourt  was 
well  enough  in  her  way,  'twas  a  sort  of  cold  politeness 
that  was  not  worth  much,  and  the  little  thing  had  a 
worrying  time  of  it  altogether.  About  a  month  before 
the  wedding,  she  and  my  lord  and  the  two  children  used 
to  ride  about  together  upon  horseback,  and  a  very  pretty 
sight  they  were ;  and  if  you'll  beUeve  me,  I  never  saw 
him  once  with  her  unless  the  children  were  with  her  too 
— which  made  the  courting  so  strange-looking.  Ay, 
and  my  lord  is  so  handsome,  you  know,  so  that  at  last 
I  think  she  rather  liked  him;  and  I  have  seen  her 
smile  and  blush  a  bit  at  things  he  said.  He  wanted 
her  the  more  because  the  children  did,  for  everybody 
could  see  that  she  would  be  a  most  tender  mother  to 
them,  and  friend  and  playmate  too.  And  my  lord  is 
not  only  handsome,  but  a  splendid  courter,  and  up  to 
all  the  ways  o't.  So  he  made  her  the  beautifullest 
presents ;  ah,  one  I  can  mind — a  lovely  bracelet,  with 
diamonds  and  emeralds.  Oh,  how  red  her  face  came 
when  she  saw  it !  The  old  roses  came  back  to  her 
cheeks  for  a  minute  or  two  then.  I  helped  dress  her 
452 


A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES 

the  day  we  both  were  married — it  was  the  last  service 
I  did  her,  poor  child !  When  she  was  ready,  I  ran 
upstairs  and  slipped  on  my  own  wedding  gown,  and 
away  they  went,  and  away  went  Martin  and  I ;  and  no 
sooner  had  my  lord  and  my  lady  been  married  than  the 
parson  married  us.  It  was  a  very  quiet  pair  of  weddings 
— hardly  anybody  knew  it.  Well,  hope  will  hold  its 
own  in  a  young  heart,  if  so  be  it  can;  and  my  lady 
freshened  up  a  bit,  for  my  lord  was  so  handsome  and 
kind.' 

*  How  came  she  to  die — and  away  from  home  ? ' 
murmured  Knight. 

'  Don't  you  see,  sir,  she  fell  off  again  afore  they'd 
been  married  long,  and  my  lord  took  her  abroad  for 
change  of  scene.  They  were  coming  home,  and  had 
got  as  far  as  London,  when  she  was  taken  very  ill  and 
couldn't  be  moved,  and  there  she  died.' 

*  Was  he  very  fond  of  her  ?  ' 

*  What,  my  lord  ?     Oh,  he  was  ! ' 

*  Very  fond  of  her  ?  ' 

*  Ver}',  beyond  everything.  Not  suddenly,  but  by 
slow  degrees.  'Twas  her  nature  to  win  people  more 
when  they  knew  her  well.  He'd  have  died  for  her,  I 
believe.     Poor  my  lord,  he's  heart-broken  now  ! ' 

'  The  funeral  is  to-morrow  ? '        .  , 

'  Yes ;  my  husband  is  now  at  the  vault  with  the 
masons,  opening  the  steps  and  cleaning  down  the  walls.' 

The  next  day  two  men  walked  up  the  familiar  valley 
from  Castle  Boterel  to  East  Endelstow  Church.  And 
when  the  funeral  was  over,  and  every  one  had  left  the 
lawn -like  churchyard,  the  pair  went  softly  down  the 
steps  of  the  Luxellian  vault,  and  under  the  low-groined 
arches  they  had  beheld  once  before,  lit  up  then  as  now. 
In  the  new  niche  of  the  crypt  lay  a  rather  new  coffin, 
which  had  lost  some  of  its  lustre,  and  a  newer  coffin 
still,  bright  and  untarnished  in  the  slightest  degree. 
453 


A   PAIR   OF    BLUE   EYES 

Beside  the  latter  was  the  dark  form  of  a  man,  kneel- 
ing on  the  damp  floor,  his  body  flung  across  the  coffin, 
his  hands  clasped,  and  his  whole  frame  seemingly  given 
up  in  utter  abandonment  to  grief.  He  was  still  young — 
younger,  perhaps,  than  Knight — and  even  now  showed 
how  graceful  was  his  figure  and  symmetrical  his  build. 
He  murmured  a  prayer  half  aloud,  and  was  quite  un- 
conscious that  two  others  were  standing  within  a  few 
yards  of  him. 

Knight  and  Stephen  had  advanced  to  where  they 
once  stood  beside  Elfride  on  the  day  all  three  had  met 
there,  before  she  had  herself  gone  down  into  silence 
like  her  ancestors,  and  shut  her  bright  blue  eyes  for 
ever.  Not  until  then  did  they  see  the  kneehng  figure 
in  the  dim  light.  Knight  instantly  recognized  the 
mourner  as  Lord  Luxellian,  the  bereaved  husband  of 
Elfride. 

They  felt  themselves  to  be  intruders.  Knight  pressed 
Stephen  back,  and  they  silently  withdrew  as  they  had 
entered. 

'  Come  away,'  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice.  '  We  have 
no  right  to  be  there.  Another  stands  before  us — 
nearer  to  her  than  we ! ' 

And  side  by  side  they  both  retraced  their  steps  down 
the  grey  still  valley  to  Castle  Boterel. 


Or  ^ 


Oa, 


LfOR 


N'lA 


V    /y, 


RETURN 


CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

202  AAain  Library 


642-340 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
1 -month  loans  nnay  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405 
6-month  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books  to  Circulation  I 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  mode  4  days  prior  to  due  date 


DUE 

AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

TR   1  1  1977 

-. 

■  -.-.-  ■ -^^ 

MAK  26 1988 

itil^Wt    f\fff{   07  ]^^^ 

FORM  NO.  DD  6,  40m,  6'76 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKI 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


LD 


21-100m-12,'43  (8796s) 


^ 


^i ' 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


m^ 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


